Frozen Assets
by LikeMulderandScully
Summary: The mysterious case that lead to Pete's truck being 'in' Lake Michigan. Set between Resonance and Magnetism. Pete/Myka.
1. Chapter 1

Pete: Oh, transpo-- My truck is still in Lake Michigan.

Myka: God that was cold.

Pete: Word.

Did you guys ever wonder about the events leading up to Pete's truck being 'in' Lake Michigan? Haha. I did, so I'm going to make it up! This would take place between 'Resonance' and 'Magnetism'. Here's the teaser:

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Myka saw him throw it in slow motion, knowing full well that the mahogany box was still in the truck with Pete at the other side of the bridge. She stopped dead in her tracks, the Tesla forgotten at her side as she witnessed the inevitable happen.

It was like watching the reverse of the straw that broke the camel's back. The small stack of yellowed paper hit the thin ice without a sound. Ten seconds later, a loud hollow splash followed.

"PETE!"

Without even a look to her fleeing suspect, Secret Service Agent Myka Bering jumped from the wooden bridge into the frigid lake water.

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Have I left you in suspense?


	2. Open account

Begins just after they return to Leena's after Resonance--I would have finished this sooner but I just discovered (my life is average)--Check it out, it's hilarious!

I'm starting here because I really want to play with the character interaction before I get onto the meatier storyline, plus its fun!

Oh, and P.S. In case you were unaware -I own nothing. Syfy does. Seriously.-

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Myka heard the music reverberate through the walls of the bed and breakfast as she unpacked her small suitcase. Closing another ornate drawer in her antique dresser, she smiled to herself. Pete had obviously found the local jazz station on his room's radio.

She quickly finished and tucked the black nylon bag back under her bed. The music was louder in the hall as she crossed in the direction of Pete's open door.

"You thinking about your dad?" Myka asked gently as she leaned against the doorframe.

Pete's head rose from the mattress where he had wearily collapsed a few minutes before. "Yea, he loved jazz. It reminds me of him, and the case…" Trailing off he sat up to face her, and after a pensive second he continued. "I don't have a ton of distinct memories of him, but that concert he took me to is so vivid. When I listen to jazz I can be that eight year-old kid again."

One corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "I don't think you need the jazz Pete."

He laughed and she grinned.

She moved fully into the room and sat in the large armchair across from the bed, leaning back into the plush cushion. Her smile quirked to one side and she studied the soft incandescent light from the antique lamp as it played across his face. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence as they listened to the dulcet tones from the radio on the desk.

"You know Pete, what you did back there, for that girl and her father…"

"I know, it wasn't by-the-book, maybe I shouldn't have, but it felt like the only thing…"

She leaned forward as she interrupted him. "No, no, Pete; I was going to say that it was really, very noble of you. Eric-- you know, will probably get to spend the last year of his life with his only two loves; his daughter and his music. I mean there's something to be said for doing things by-the-book, of course, but I think that was a-- fitting exception." The words seemed less awkward in her head than they did coming out in her halting speech. She made a face of unease at her own ineloquence.

He grinned at her.

"You trying to pay me a compliment there, Myka?"

Her lips pursed, and a million witty comebacks played through her thoughts, but she didn't voice any of them.

"Yes, Pete, as strange as that might seem to both of us." He grinned wider. She returned his grin, but suggested that it was late and she should be heading to bed. He acquiesced and flopped back onto the bed, but not without delivering his parting shot for the night.

"Give my regards to the ferret."

She rolled her eyes with a smirk and turned to leave.

"But really, Myka, thanks for saying that."

"Of course." She paused on her way out the door, and Pete just barely heard her mumble: _"I wish I could love my father that much."_

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At 9:24 the next morning, Artie stomped through the living room, past Myka curled up in another plush armchair with a copy of _Northanger Abbey_, and out onto the patio where he dumped his armful of stuff onto the aging metal table and collapsed into a nearby chair. Appearing as if by magic, Leena placed a cup of steaming tea in front of him. Her light, mysterious tone was always welcome to Artie, unless, of course, she was questioning his motives or actions; but this morning it was like music to his ears.

"The day only goes up from here, Artie."

He smiled at the familiar sensation of having his mood read by the pretty young innkeeper. He finally noticed Myka, who still hadn't noticed that either he or Leena were in the same dimension, let alone the same room.

"Myka?" No answer.

"Myka?" Nothing.

Getting up from the table and standing in the open doorway between the patio and the living room, Artie rubbed the left side of his beard with his right hand and adjusted his glasses, wondering what strange phenomenon could have caused Myka to lose her grip on the surrounding world. Then he saw the title and understood her captivation.

"Miss Morland? Mr. Tilney is going to have to wait until after you retrieve your next artifact."

Myka's head didn't snap to attention like he had predicted, but he did get a vague: "Yea Artie?"

They say good things come to those who wait. He waited.

It finally sunk in and Myka looked up sheepishly, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks.

"Sorry Artie, I guess I got a little sucked in there."

He laughed heartily. "You'd be surprised how many books and papers end up in the warehouse for that same reason, Myka."

Her eyes widened and she considered inwardly whether that would be a good or bad thing.

Artie interrupted her reverie with his inquiry as to where Pete was. "He's probably not even awake yet; one morning I tried to get him up early and he mumbled 'Five more minutes Mom.' Myka replied, raising an eyebrow to affect the last sentence.

Artie went to the stairs and called Pete in a loud, low roar. Myka was confused when the answering holler came from behind her. Heading out onto the patio, she heard it again.

"Yea, Artie?"

Myka laughed, remembering where Pete's room was situated on the floor above, and stepped barefoot onto the soft green grass. She looked up at the French window above

to find her goofy partner's head and upper body sticking out as far as he was able without

falling. Thoroughly entertained, she called Artie over, but not without noticing with satisfaction her partner's shirtless physique. The window stunt barely got a smile from Artie, but then, Myka thought he'd probably seen it before.

"Oh for Pete's-- Pete, put a shirt on your indolent ass and get down here, there's a new case; and I think you're going to like it."

Pete raised his eyebrows comically, and then promptly hit his head pulling it back through the casement; finally earning a hearty laugh from Artie. Myka giggled a little, thinking that his karmic punishment for laziness was terrific.

By the time Pete came downstairs, still looking sour from his encounter with the window casing, but Leena had three delicious looking breakfast plates waiting for them, immediately boosting his mood. Myka noticed Pete's entrance onto the patio and came in from the garden, sitting next to her partner and staring at, instead of Artie, a pile of very old and dusty looking papers.

Pete was, of course, the first to comment. "Geez Artie, what is all this stuff?"

This, my slugabed agent, is an archive of all the warehouse's information on Michigan's most famous ghost town: Singapore."

Pete and Myka shared a glance and interrupted in unison with two very different exclamations, while still struggling to see their boss over the avalanche.

"Spooky. WOoOoooh."

"Ghost hunting? Really, Artie?"

Artie sighed, reminding Pete of his high school chemistry teacher. "Why don't you let me finish before you deliver your judgments, young lady? Not that it matters-- this is not a democracy, and you two are headed to the contemporary town of Saugatuck, Michigan to investigate some suspicious circumstances."

Under Myka's disapproving yet amused glare, Pete's '8 year-old on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disney World' grin disappeared and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

"What kind of suspicious circumstances Artie?"

"Well, I've had my eye… well the computer's eye-- you get the idea, on that location for a while now; since it is an area of increased historical significance with Native American involvement. Last year the town began experiencing a small shoplifting problem in the village. Small stuff, you understand-- mostly books, especially comic books and graphic novels…"

Myka had her head buried in the file by this point, and Pete was trying to read over her shoulder. She swatted him away and, seeing his mock-pouted lip, handed him the file to get him to shut up. She swallowed another indulgent smile; turned back to Artie and apologetically motioned for him to continue.

"So-- as I was saying-- over the past 6 months, stranger things have begun to happen in Saugatuck-- mailboxes switching sides of the street, the mayor's car was moved to the roof of the local high school-- during the day mind you, and most noticeably: last week an entire display case from the local jewelry store disappeared without a trace and was found the next day on the beach nearly two miles away."

Pete was no longer paying attention to the file; in fact, it had hit the tiled concrete somewhere between 'mailboxes' and 'roof of the local high school'. "Dude, where was this artifact when I was in high school?"

"I'm sure you did just fine without it, Pete." Myka mocked.

"And I'm sure your dad's bookshelves were neatly organized on Friday nights, weren't they, Myka?"

"Jock."

"Geek."

Artie saw the beginnings of a murderous look in Myka's eyes and broke in, having figured out how sensitive she was to that brand of teasing, and became the peacemaker; a hat he had been donning constantly since his new agents had arrived. "Guys, guys-- dangerous artifact on the loose, can we be adults and focus on that instead of your respective high school experiences?"

Pete was first to apologize; he too had seen the self-conscious way she guarded her early life. He met her downcast eye-line and grinned:

"My next one was smarty-pants."

She laughed.

"I couldn't decide between gorilla and mindless beefcake."

He held out his hand to pull her up from the chair. "To Michigan?"

"To Michigan."

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Whadd'ya think? Let me know! That's what the handy little button down there is for.

It ended up longer than I thought, but then when does it ever end up shorter? _Northanger Abbey_, by Jane Austen, was one of my other summer obsessions-- love it.

And tell me what you thought of 'Breakdown'! **cough, cough**AWESOME**cough**… tell me your favorite moments-- Myka's kick!? Pete in B/W- Claudia in general- fantaz!


	3. The Bonds Between Us

Aww. Thanks for all the nice reviews guys! They really motivate me.

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Saugatuck, Michigan. Population 2,306. And it looked it. As the agents drove down Main Street they saw very few people at all.

"Its not really tourist season yet, so I guess there's not many people around." Myka observed happily, knowing that fewer tourists meant they had a better chance of finding the culprits of the various pranks.

"I think its just because its after 8pm, Myka." Pete interjected wryly. He saw 'closed' signs in all the darkened store windows, and mentally noted the placement of the bookstore, the jewelry store, and the best looking ice cream shop. It never hurts to be prepared, right?

Myka sighed, knowing they'd get nothing accomplished on small town hours tonight. "I guess we should just focus on finding somewhere to stay."

They saw no hotels; as the town was not corporately developed, and everything seemed privately owned. There was a whole street of darling looking Bed and Breakfasts; they just had to pick one.

They found an out-of-the-way parking spot for the truck and walked down Ottowa Avenue. Pete looked up and down the street, mentally tallying the Victorian-era mansions. "Seven. Shall we eeny-meeny-miney-moe?"

Myka grinned. "Sure, Pete. Or you could just spin in a circle with your eyes closed and pick one that way." She secretly hoped he would take her jokingly made suggestion seriously.

He did take it seriously, just tweaked it a bit.

Pete grasped Myka by the shoulders so fast she couldn't even resist and started spinning her around and around and around-- He laughed and sing-songed, "Around and around she goes, and where she stops nobody knows!"

After about ten turns he let her go, but she didn't slow and point to a house; she immediately tackled him to the ground.

He lay, winded, on his back, in the grass with a dizzy and recovering Myka sitting on his chest and pinning his arms down. She saw two Petes, and she was equally annoyed at both of them.

"God, Pete! Never do that again!"

After a second, she rolled off into the grass next to him and began to giggle, at nothing in particular. The reality of her current life situation, the warehouse and the annoying but nevertheless intriguing man-child assigned as her partner had all suddenly begun to catch up with her. Pete loved the sound of her laughter; it made him feel so comfortable. He looked backwards to judge their surroundings; they had landed on a pristinely manicured lawn, which sloped upwards to a lovely three story blue and white Victorian mansion.

"The Wilder Inn. Nice choice Myka."

Finally regaining her balance enough to sit up and turn around she looked up at the inviting windows with satisfaction. "Oh, what a beautiful house" she breathed. Pete, who was already up on his feet, took her by the elbow and hoisted her up, plucking a leaf out of her dark curls. "I'm glad you picked it."

She rolled her eyes as she dusted off her jacket. "If anything I think both of us had a significant hand in the picking."

He placed a finger to the side of his nose, making her roll her eyes once again, but with a smile on her lips this time. Pete started up the long stone path, with Myka following close behind. About halfway he stopped her and asked: "Should we play this low key?"

"Low key?" She queried dubiously.

"Yea, undercover, so they don't spread the word that the 'Feds' are here. In places like this gossip is king, and it travels lightning fast. They may not give us much if they think we're here to bust one of them."

Myka was, for once, in agreement. "Yea, I get that; the whole small-town-charm thing. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to downplay our presence here at least until we find something."

"So do you want to be Mr. and Mrs. Lattimer or Mr. and Mrs. Bering? Or are you one of those 'keep your last name' kinda feminist gals?"

Myka's eyes widened. "I never said we could play married! Just say I'm your sister. We look similar enough to pull that off."

Now it was Pete who rolled his eyes. "And how do I explain why we are traveling together, sans spouses or girlfriends, to a random tiny tourist destination in Nowheresville Michigan?"

Myka wrinkled her nose in scrutiny. "Well when you say it that way it does seem kind of sketchy." She sighed, waving him on up the hill. "Fine. 'Mr. and Mrs. Peter Lattimer' it is."

When they reached the large oaken door, it was Myka who rang the doorbell, which emitted a nearly deafening series of bells.

"Well they definitely know we're here then." Pete said satirically, looking over at his partner who was covering her ears and wincing.

The door swung open and two friendly faces met the agents.

The tall older gentleman reminded Myka of her grandfather, who had long since passed away; and strangely enough, the short, plump woman reminded Pete of the singing teapot from _Beauty and the Beast_.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Wilder!" cried the woman. "You're our first visitors of the season, and boy are we going to take good care of you! Aren't we Bill?"

The man smiled lovingly down at his enthusiastic wife and agreed heartily. "Yes, of course we are. I'm Bill and this is my wife Myrna. Please come in."

Pete hooked an arm around a surprised, but smiling Myka's waist and stepped inside. "My name is Pete Lattimer and this is my better half Myka." Pete saw the lurking unease in Myka's eyes and took the ruse to the next level. "Isn't this place beautiful, Sweetheart? I'm so happy you picked it."

"Yes, it's charming…" gritting a reluctant "dear." to the end and pinching his hip slightly to tone him down. She saw his face contort in an emotion between pain and amusement and knew she had gotten through. Myka turned her attention back to their two hosts.

"It really is lovely. We don't know how long we'll be staying, probably a few days to a week. My Pete here has a job that is a little unpredictable at times."

Myrna beamed at them sweetly. "Now that's just fine my dears, you just let us know when you have to leave us and it will all be arranged." She led them to a comfortable looking sofa in the living room and motioned for them to sit. "Have you ever been around here before?"

Pete was first to speak, "Nope, we heard about your 'ghost town' from a friend of ours and decided to come check it out for ourselves." He was sitting quite close to Myka, and furthered their illusion by reaching around her elbow and lacing their fingers together; an unexpected chill ran up Myka's spine. Pete felt this and smiled to himself, continuing his conversation with Bill and Myrna, "The wife and I are quite the history buffs; we love all the old kooky stories that come along with long-established towns like Saugatuck."

Bill seemed very pleased at this. "Well there certainly are lots of good stories in our history. We love to share them with our guests, and you'll be no exception." He stood up and picked a large brown ledger up off the desk. "Now you two will have your pick of rooms, since our only other guest is a Mr. D'Arcy, who is working on his new mystery novel: you won't see him much. We have a few themed rooms, one of which, you two in particular might like, is the 'Old Bank' room. It has lots of antiques relating to the most interesting of the old Singapore stories."

Myrna frowned slightly, "but honey, that room has two queen beds. I'm sure our lovely couple here would like a king-sized bed all to themselves."

Pete smirked and nudged the toe of Myka's boot. He hadn't thought of that. He'd never run out of jokes if he got to share a bed with her for a week. Apparently this had crossed Myka's mind, and she spoke up before Bill could make a one-bedded room suggestion, skillfully gaining them a less awkward sleeping arrangement. She placed a hand on Pete's knee and interrupted. "Myrna, that's very sweet of you, but we actually would love the two queens. Pete can be quite the kicker in his sleep, he used to play soccer and he just never grew out of it, so sometimes I take a vacation from the trauma." She smiled wickedly in his direction. "And the historical atmosphere is exactly what we are looking for."

The older couple shared a laugh at Pete's expense, and agreed upon the room. Pete made the trek down the hill to get the bags from the truck, while Myka had a cup of hot chocolate with Myrna and Bill read his newspaper.

Myka dug her thumbnail in between two sections of the rough-hewn and whitewashed kitchen table and fidgeted with her mug, trying to figure out how to act like a wife. She didn't have much actual field experience doing undercover work, unlike Pete, and just knew what she had learned in training. She figured she should start small, build the relationship with their amiable hosts and then maybe gain some valuable information later on.

She threw a warm smile across the table and asked Myrna how they had met. Myrna obliged with an adorable, yet lengthy, story about Bill being her high school sweetheart. The anecdote lasted just long enough for Pete to return with the bags. As he entered the kitchen, Myka let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She hadn't realized how out of her depth she had been without him until he was again within her sights.

Myrna offered Pete a cup of cocoa and some cookies, which he immediately accepted.

Mouth-stuffed-full-of-cookie would be Pete's Indian name, Myka decided as she watched him eat one after another. Myrna announced that she would be heading to bed and that she would see the 'lovebirds' for breakfast the next morning. Pete tried to ignore Myka's adorable answering blush and instead turned to Bill, who was again behind his newspaper. "Hey Bill, if you're up for it think we could hear the old bank story before we spend our first night in our 'Old Bank' room?"

The paper was folded within seconds, revealing a pleasantly smiling Bill from behind it. "Up for it? Of course! This story is one of my favorites, and it is especially fitting for a dark cloudy night like this one. Let's move into the den though, the chairs are infinitely more comfortable and the fire is great for storytelling." He led them to the aforementioned den, where Bill sat in a large green armchair, Myka sat on the end of the overstuffed denim sofa, and Pete decided to sit dangerously close to his 'wife', who was inwardly flattered that he was taking their contrivance this far.

"This story begins with the man who founded old Singapore. A greedy but charming man, who this very Bed and Breakfast is named for: Oshea Wilder."

Pete and Myka shared a glance, and for the first time, a vibe. They both knew some crucial information was coming their way.

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This one ran away from me a bit, and there's not a whole lot in it, but it was so fun! *promises actual plot in forthcoming chapter*

Reviews make me write faster!


	4. Shares and Interest

Every time I sit to write I get sidetracked, this chapter it was researching my newly discovered obsession-- steampunk. So fun, and W13 has a lot of steampunk elements to it, like Artie's typewriter compy. Neat.

So, This story is actually somewhat factual (except for the magic part), if you trust Wikipedia. I love history and think this is really cool, so if I lose you in all this exposition I apologize… I'm trying to sneak some 'undercover' fluff in the cracks!

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"_This story begins with the man who founded old Singapore. A greedy but charming man, who this very Bed and Breakfast is named for: Oshea Wilder."_

_Pete and Myka shared a glance, and for the first time, a vibe. They both knew some crucial information was coming their way._

Bill began the story with a practiced air, and Myka knew this story was a beloved one, told often and enthusiastically. "In 1836 Wilder came out from New York, and was hoping to build a port town to rival Chicago and Milwaukee. At its height, the town of Singapore boasted three saw mills, two hotels, several general stores, and was home to Michigan's first schoolhouse, but the town's most famous boon was the Singapore Company Bank."

"The state had passed a law that permitted any ten or more major landowners of any county to organize themselves into a banking corporation. These banks, like many of their day, would be allowed to print and issue their own paper money, but of course no bank could operate until they had at least 30% of their capital in gold and silver, or 'hard money', to back up the paper money they issued."

"However, as luck would have it for Mr. Wilder and his colleagues; the Financial Panic of 1837 started. The subsequent run on east coast banks caused the state to suspend the hard money requirement because they feared the banks of Michigan might be flooded with now worthless paper money from the banks back east. The loophole here, was that the lawmakers left the general banking laws alone, so new banks could continue to be organized and allowed to start the business of issuing bills in Michigan even while they had no proof of hard money to back them up."

Myka was interested. "So Mr. Wilder started a bank with no money?"

"Well now, they had to have some. They just didn't have as much as they should have had. Nowadays we call them 'Wildcat' banks because they were so hard to find in the woods of Michigan. One story, passed down by my grandfather's father, alleged that there was a bank located in a hollowed out tree stump!"

Pete looked confused and took Myka's hand in his own while asking: "I'm not sure I follow you here Bill; why would they want the bank hard to find?"

Myka turned to Bill and asked to field this particular inquiry. The older gentleman acceded with a smile, glad that this pretty guest was so interested.

She looked, slightly surprised, down at their joined hands for a second, and then into Pete's eyes. "If the main office for the bank that redeemed its paper money for hard money was located in some far off or inaccessible place, the paper money could be circulated into the far reaches of the country and be very unlikely to get back to the bank to be redeemed for real money."

Pete understood. "Oh, so it was like a con or a fraud. Once the money was out there, there was no one to back it up, but there was also no one to disprove its value. Got it."

Bill grinned. "Exactly. There should have been $15,000 of hard money on reserve. All surviving records indicate that this was not likely." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Now here is where the legend of the old bank comes in."

Pete and Myka mirrored his movements, eager for any information remotely indicative of an artifact.

"Later that year, the state realized its mistake and then required a bank inspection every three months to make sure each bank had enough gold. Not discouraged by this challenge our shrewd Mr. Wilder formed a symbiotic relationship with the Bank in Allegan, a town about 25 miles down the Kalmazoo River. The two banks would pool their gold when it came time for the inspection, and after it was counted in Allegan's bank they would move it to Singapore where the inspector would count it the next day as the Singapore bank's."

Pete gave Myka's hand a squeeze and they shared a smiled at the poor unsuspecting Bank Inspector's ignorance. He began unconsciously rubbing small gentle circles on the back of her hand as their host continued.

"This worked just fine for a while, until one day the canoe carrying the gold, paddled by a local Ottowa Indian, Maksaube, was just upstream from Saugatuck when it hit an obstacle in the river and capsized. The bags of gold sank to the bottom in a particularly deep part of the river. Maksaube rushed ahead to Singapore and told his story. While James Harris, the village blacksmith, devised a drag hook to get the gold from the bottom of the river, word was sent back to a nearby village, Richmond, to intercept the inspector and keep him occupied. The men recovered the gold in time, but the close call had caused Oshea to apparently reconsider his method of moving the gold from bank to bank."

Bill stood suddenly, saying he had "forgotten the best part": his authentic Oshea Wilder letter, and would go get it from the wall of their room if they "would be so kind as to wait" a minute for him to return. Myka smiled genuinely and, thankful for this momentary reprieve, said "Of course!"

She waited the seven seconds it took for Bill to be out of the room and out of earshot before yanking her hand from Pete's grasp.

"Pete! Would you, for the sake of my sanity, please tone it down-- even a little? I'm trying to pay attention here."

He grinned at her flustered state. "I'm just making it seem realistic."

She narrowed her eyes at him warily. He kept grinning. "Besides, it's fun; and I know you like it." Despite her fixed expression of annoyance, Pete saw her eyes widen noticeably; clearly he had hit something.

"That's absolutely not what I said. Or the point."

"Mmhmm." He agreed, reluctantly dropping the subject. "So what do you think of this story so far? You think it could have something to do with an artifact?"

Myka began pacing, "It definitely could. I can't tell what kind of artifact yet though; I think we need to hear the end of the story."

As if on cue, Bill reappeared with a gilded picture frame in tow. It wasn't too large, just about big enough for a single sheet of paper. Bill handed the frame to Pete, who was still sitting on the couch, and Myka sat back down next to him to peer through the faintly dusty glass. The frame held a letter addressing a woman named Lucy. It spoke of fairly mundane everyday matters at the beginning and inquiries about friends and relatives in the middle. The end was what caught the interest of the agents.

…_I told you, my dear, about the unfortunate incident with Maksaube and the gold last week correct? Yes. Well I am happy to report that the Indian made amends with me today in the form of a gift; a gift of a mystical sort that will prevent this sort of accident from happening again. However, I would be ill-advised to go into the specifics in this manner. I will explain all when we are reunited, my love, which will be very soon; at most another week. I only wish my new gift worked on hearts or people instead of mere objects. You could have me in your arms instantly. Again, I have said too much, and will end here._

_Remember that I love you, always._

The letter ended with a small illustration of an eagle.

They looked up and Bill confirmed their silent suspicions. "The eagle was Oshea's trademark."

"It's yours too right?" Myka asked, remembering an eagle on the sign outside.

Pete decided to fish around a little-- see if their host knew anything about the artifact. "So this mysterious 'gift' that the Indian gave him-- What do you think it was?

"That gift is still as much of a mystery as it ever was, I'm afraid. After this Wilder took fewer trips to Allegan. It seems as if the gift helped; whatever it was. Possibly a faster canoe or a more reliable Indian courier… Myrna and I have speculated, but we never come to any solid conclusions."

"Well," Pete said rising and stretching his arms above his head. "That was a great story, just as you said Bill, but I'm beat. Whaddya say we hit the sack Honey?

Myka's expression was unreadable for a second; she regained her composure quickly and, agreeing with her 'husband', bid Bill goodnight.

"Have a pleasant night-- and if you could hang this back up in your room." He handed Myka the gilt frame; "I'll see you in the morning."

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Yay! New episode tonight! Called 'Nevermore'--- oooh Poe-ish. Tell me what you think of this and the new ep!

I'm promising some cool stuff in the next chap, as long as it doesn't run away and get me sidetracked…


	5. Analyzing Chinese Walls

School keeps me insanely busy, but I managed to eek out a bit of time for this! … and believe me, I'd rather do this. Slightly shorter than I'd like, but I couldn't find a better place for a chapter break…

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"There."

"Pete. It isn't straight. Let me." Myka delicately nudged the frame into a level position and turned to face her partner. He was sprawled out on top of the navy quilt adorning one of their two beds, obviously claiming this as his own. She had to hand it to Bill and Myrna; this was a very nice Bed and Breakfast. Their second floor room was tastefully decorated and very spacious: a good thing, because Myka didn't know how she would have dealt with sharing a small space with such a messy man. He was a slob; she was, quite predictably, extremely neat.

He smiled up at her and propped himself up on his elbows. "You can have the bed in the corner. It's behind the curtains."

She frowned and looked in the direction he motioned to see what he meant, as she hadn't really gotten a good look around the room yet. She moved back the soft sheer curtains in the archway and her mouth dropped open. Pete had 'left her' the most beautiful bed she had ever seen. What he had deigned a 'corner' was instead a cozy nook created by the house's octagonal turret. Nearly surrounded by windows, it seemed to have no walls at all. It was like a scene from one of her childhood storybooks. She was floating as she sat on the edge of the mattress, running her fingers over the soft cream colored quilt decorated with swallows and leaves. She said nothing, but her eyes expressed her gratitude for her.

Pete smiled widely, knowing he had pleased her. "I'm not much of a princess, I have no need for a tower."

She rewarded him with a huge grin. Pete thought just maybe, seeing her smile made this job the best one he'd ever had.

The pair of exhausted agents both collapsed backward onto their respective beds. As they stared up at the ceiling they heard a familiar buzzing from Pete's jacket, which had been carelessly tossed to the floor. Pete got to the Farnsworth first and flipped it open.

"Yo, Artie. Whats the haps?"

Myka saw Artie's eyes roll just as clear as if he had been sitting right there in front of them.

"Checking in. Are you settled in Saugatuck for the time being?"

"Better than settled. Myka's made an honest man of me."

Artie didn't react, just waited for Myka to clarify, which she did as soon as she had clamped a hand over Pete's mouth so he would cease embarrassing her.

"We decided to go undercover for the time being because of the small town atmosphere. I think it will be easier to get locals to trust us."

"Hmm. Seems reasonable. So I have been wading through all the old files, and I haven't found much that indicates an artifact in the town's history, so you guys will be flying blind for a little while-- you know, just until I can uncover something… Just go with your gut."

Pete and Myka shared a glance for the second time that night.

"Well Artie, I think we beat you on that one."

"It just so happens that our B&B is owned by the local history nuts."

They told him the whole story, showed him the letter, and before saying goodbye Artie promised to look into the specifics of this 'mystical gift'.

Pete flipped the Farnsworth shut as he yawned. He was tired.

As Pete drifted off to sleep, Myka unpacked. She was growing more uneasy about sharing a room with Pete as she thought about her sleeping patterns of late. She infrequently had nightmares, bad ones, usually about Denver. They had been much more frequent and intense for some unknown reason since her transfer to the Warehouse, however, and at least twice a week she woke up terrified, heart racing. Pete knew. Two weeks ago, not long after they had closed their first case she woke to Leena sitting on her bed, holding her hand and calling her name gently. She had said Myka had woken the whole house with her scream. She hated those dreams, especially because she had no control, she couldn't stop them, and she despised feeling weak and scared.

Needless to say she didn't enjoy her beautiful bed much that night, finally drifting into a haze between dreamscape and reality between 2 and 3 am.

-------

Pete was first up at 7 am to go for a run and get the lay of the land. He left just as light was first peeking in the windows. He looked over to his partner and immediately regretted it. Her peaceful porcelain features lit ethereally by the early morning sun and her glossy brown curls glowed chocolate as they tumbled over the shoulder of the faded blue t-shirt he could see above the quilt. Every time he looked at her today he was going to see that image, it was going to be hell on his professionalism. However bossy and abrasive, stubborn and annoying she acted, she was still a stunner visually.

He closed the door behind him softly and paused. It wasn't just her looks. With every passing hour Myka was slipping further under his skin. She was a top-notch agent, and he could feel her trusting him more each day, even though he figured it was hard for her, especially because of her history. He was beginning to realize what Myka was starting to mean to him, their chemistry was all but undeniable: a classic fire and ice pairing, opposites attract. He took a deep breath and cleared his head, pinning that observation in the back of his thoughts and bringing his current task to the forefront: exploring the town.

When he returned Myka was sitting on the porch with a lightly steaming mug of tea. She barely greeted him as he passed, she looked quite tired, and so he left her alone and went inside. He was greeted at the foot of the stairs by a cheerful Myrna; she handed him a cup of heavenly smelling coffee and shooed him upstairs to shower, warning him that his breakfast would get cold if he took too long. Pete smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs. Myrna reminded him of his mom, the same sweetness of temper and fussiness over daily schedule.

Half an hour later, he paused as he descended those same stairs; she was still on the porch. Myrna seemed to read his mind as she entered the foyer. "Two cups of tea ago I would have just said she was tired. Now, I'd say it might be something else." She shrugged slightly up at Pete. "Why don't you go see if you can get her in for some breakfast, might make her feel better." He continued down the stairs and out the open whitewashed door. She smiled sweetly after him, turning on her impeccably polished heel and venturing back into the kitchen.

Myka was seated in a dark wicker chair on the far end of the porch, a long since cold cup of tea to her right. As he approached quietly, only the floorboards announced his arrival. He sat in the chair opposite her and looked up seeing the gentle breeze wave the early spring branches silhouetted against the cloudy sky. The weather fit her mood: uncertain and gloomy. The sun had risen promisingly, but had disappeared into the clouds just as fast.

"Myk, are you ok?"

She met his eyes, and seeing the genuine concern etched within she managed a small smile and assured him that she was fine.

"I barely slept last night."

"On those beds I'm surprised you managed to stay awake, is it anything you want to talk about?" He made sure she met his eyes. "I want you to be able to tell me things, trust me, that's what partners do. You chose to stay, and that decision makes me your partner. I want to be a good one Myka-- and a good fake husband too." He added with a facetious smirk.

She took in his speech appreciatively and sighed. "I know Pete, and thank you. I really am OK, just tired; I promise to tell you the next time if something really is wrong" she paused for a second and smiled slightly "--dear."

"I didn't keep you awake with my kicking did I, Sweetheart?"

She laughed.

"Come on in. Myrna has breakfast for us."

"You think it could be better than Leena's?" Myka joked, knowing how fond Pete had grown of the meals that came out of Leena's kitchen.

"Well if it is; we'll have to stay here forever, move the Warehouse --which will be quite a hassle for Artie-- and then I'd actually have to marry you. All for breakfast." He laughed at her expression of bemusement and pushed the joke as far as he could.

"You know, it doesn't sound all that unreasonable, Myka. Totally do-able, just need a fleet of moving trucks painted in purple goo, a top secret seeming infinite storage space-- and that room with the king sized bed that Myrna was so eager to get us into last night."

This earned him a slap on the back of his head as Myka passed him. He put and hand into his dark hair rubbing the wounded area as he watched her push the swinging door and stride into the kitchen.

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Hope I can get the next chapter up soon! (AKA less than a whole week, sorry about that btw friends) In which Pete and Myka head into town and learn about some of the strange happenings… ooh, sounds fun, no?


	6. Accrued Interest

You guys probably think I've abandoned this story and all of you! I assure you that is not the case, but alas, being in college means I have just about NO time for fun stuff like this! I really want to finish this, but it may take me a while, so bear with me and I promise not to leave you hanging for too long! ---On a related note: I'm not sure about this chapter, it feels 'off' to me… so definitely let me know what you think!

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After a breakfast that Pete admitted rivaled Leena's in taste, though not in presentation, because it didn't include an aura reading, they headed into town under the pretense of 'exploring'.

Main Street was not far, maybe three blocks. Myka was occupied reading the 'Historical Happenings' sign when Pete grabbed her hand and pulled her away eagerly with a "C'mon Myka. We have _interesting_ stuff to see!" She noticed he didn't drop her hand as he led them in the direction of an aged bookstore sign hanging from a wrought iron frame; she raised an eyebrow but didn't move to drop his hand either. Pete noted that her eyes widened again as he initiated physical contact, and didn't miss the eyebrow either. "I'm just trying to sell it."

She pursed her lips. "Apparently."

They entered _Singapore Books ~New, Used, Collectible~ Est. 1902_ and began wandering through the aisles looking for any signs of a proprietor. The only person they stumbled upon, however, was a young teenaged girl sitting on the floor between two impossibly tall piles of books. She heard them approach and looked up through a curtain of dark curls.

She greeted them cheerfully. "Hi, Welcome to Singapore Books. I can tell you've never been here before. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Myka smiled fondly, reminded immensely of her younger self and introduced her and Pete. "Do you work here?"

The girl pouted slightly. "Not yet. One day I will, when Mr. James finally realizes he needs the help. I'm Laura, Mr. James is upstairs."

Pete looked between the pair amused by the striking resemblance between his partner and this young bibliophile. "So we're staying at the Wilder Inn and they said we just had to come by the famous bookstore." A booming, yet cheerful, voice came from the stairs behind them. "Well this is it, lots of old books, some new books, but what I like best is the atmosphere." They turned and saw an older man, tall and thin with white hair and a distinguished grey moustache. He shook both the agents' hands warmly after descending the narrow staircase. "I'm Oliver James, proprietor her since 1975."

Pete introduced them and told Oliver they were getting a feel for the town.

"In my opinion this is the best place to start of course; we're a famous town fixture. Three generations of James have run this bookstore."

Pete nodded, trying to decipher how best to question the man without seeming invasive or suspicious, but Myka beat him to it.

"We've heard you guys have been even more famous lately, for not such a terrific reason."

Oliver frowned. "Yes, there was some shoplifting last year. It wasn't anything major, and I'll be damned if I know how they did it, there wasn't anyone in here when most of it disappeared." He scoffed. "It's these teenagers, no respect for property."

Laura, who was still listening in the background put down the book in her hand with a annoyed thump and stalked out of the store, pulling the door shut so hard the bell fell off behind her, clattering to the floor with a hollow clang. Myka looked after her wistfully, sad that the old man frustrated her so.

"She had something to do with it. I can't prove it, but it's just a feeling I have."

"Is that why you won't hire her?" Pete inquired.

"Nope, as a Wilder, she doesn't really need the money and I don't really need the help."

"That girl is a Wilder? As in the founders of the town Wilders?" Myka was surprised.

"Yep. The family has been here forever, they're still quite wealthy. They have a hand in just about every town business."

Myka shot Pete a knowing look, their silent exchange indicating her need to talk to him privately, so he bid the bookseller farewell, making an excuse about going to look for anniversary presents. Myka hung the bell back on the door as they shut it. When both pairs of feet had hit the sidewalk Pete turned to her. "You almost threw your back out trying to get us out of there. What's up?"

"If that girl is a descendant of Oshea Wilder, the family could very well still have the artifact."

"You're right. That could be how the family has kept its wealth and power over the years. She's gotta know something about this."

A pert voice made both of them jump. "Know something about what?" Laura stood from the bench she had been sitting on and approached the pair. She frowned and sighed, "Oh, let me guess, Mr. James has been sharing his 'brilliant' theories about who stole all that stuff last year. God, now he's just telling anyone--" she waved a hand in their direction "random tourists even. Boy, by the end of the summer I'll be this towns new Boo Radley. When really I didn't even do anything wrong--" She was pacing by this point waving her hands emphatically with each phrase.

Myka interrupted her rant with sincerity etched in her eyes. "I believe you."

Laura froze hands mid-gesture, spinning to face them. "--you do? Why? You don't even know me. I could be a compulsively lying stupid teenage book stealer for all you know."

Myka smiled mysteriously. "You respect the books too much to ever steal them. The store is your real home-- because your real home is too cold and stifling for you. You're in the store too much for it even to be worth it to steal anything."

Pete and Laura both wore expressions of astonishment. She was first to speak. "Yea that's all true," she said quietly and gently, her tone having taken a direct U-turn after Myka's revelation. "…but Mr. James refuses to believe me. Which is annoying because he's more like a father to me than-- well…" here she trailed off, her eyes fixed on a point beyond Pete's right shoulder. She looked suddenly to the ground and shuffled her red converse against the sidewalk; and when she raised her head seconds later, Myka saw a hardness appear in Laura's eyes as the sound of heavy footsteps approached from behind.

The middle-aged man wore a navy sailors jacket with the Saugatuck emblem emblazoned on the chest. He had the bearing of someone who had once been in shape, long ago, and who time and living had been good to. He was probably mid-40's, and still quite handsome Myka thought, despite his graying hair and shorter stature. He greeted Laura politely and introduced himself to Pete and Myka as the mayor "…but you can just call me Chuck. Everyone around here does."

He continued readily; "how do you find our fine town Mr. and Mrs. Lattimer? Enjoying your stay?"

Myka turned on her charm notwithstanding her slight reaction to Chuck's addressing them as a couple, she just couldn't make herself inwardly comfortable with it, even as she seemed all right outwardly. "We've come to see old Singapore, Pete and I are quite the history buffs-- We love a good story."

Chuck chuckled heartily. "Well there's no shortage of good stories here, Laura knows them well." She barely registered his comment with the ghost of a smile and made no other answer, except to excuse herself and duck back into the bookstore.

Pete looked after her, curious. Myka was not. Her suspicions were confirmed by the mayor's farewell. "I must apologize for my daughter, she is quite shy. Enjoy Saugatuck and let me know if you need anything--Oh and make sure to go to the Ottowa Tavern, tell 'em Chuck sent you." As the man's figure retreated down the sunny sidewalk, greeting every passer-by like one would greet a long lost pal, Myka met Pete's eyes: which were filled with conflict.

"He seems nice enough-- so why don't I like him?"

Myka lips quirked slightly in amusement, but her eyes remained full of compassion as she looked back into the bookstore window.

Pete saw her glance and seemingly read her thoughts. "Laura seems like a good kid-- but I can't help feeling she knows something. It's just a… a…"

"A vibe?"

Pete grinned. "Yep." He grabbed her hand again and began leading her further down Main. She was surprised that she let him, but let him she did. Filtered light illuminated the sidewalk creating a red aura of shade as they passed under several store awnings. Myka looked skyward as the sun came out, feeling the slight warmth on her cheeks. It was under the last awning, a blue one, that she met his eyes. Pete squeezed her hand slightly in reply to her smile, and rare moment passed between them. She was speechless as she realized what was happening. It felt so natural, walking with him, hand in hand, like she had been walking next to him her entire life. As the sun once again blinded her the moment lightened and she finally regained her voice.

"Where are we going?"

She rolled her eyes at his reply and everything returned to normal. "Well, my dear, as it is our 'anniversary'-- We have to stop by the jewelry store and see what you want to 'drop hints' about so that I can 'secretly' come 'buy' them later."

She laughed at his air quotes, but agreed to the plan.

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Reviews motivate me! …and you definitely want me motivated, because you get more chapters that way! It's a win-win.


	7. Additional Collateral

So the evil that is college has had me locked in an academic tower for the past month, and I haven't escaped yet, but I have been thinking of this fic and working on it when I have time… but be full of happiness for in two short weeks I shall be free for winter break with nothing to do but watch movies and write stories!! And this one is my first priority. Huzzah!

Here is something to tide you over until I can re-devote myself to this fic-- sooner rather than later I hope!

…………

Another bell, a smaller more high pitched chime, greeted the agents upon their arrival to the jewelry store. It was a small store, much deeper than it was wide. Display cases lined the walls, except in one notable place near to the entrance where crime scene tape still filled the space where glass should have been. Myka mentally absorbed the scene, and as many details as she could remember. Pete stood at the display case next to the gap glancing covertly at the empty space.

Fortunately, or not so fortunately, the case he was casing held what looked to Pete like jewelry that would be given as an anniversary gift: a perfect ruse in case someone happened by. There was only one other customer, being waited upon by a thirty-something attractive blond woman who had motioned for the couple to wait with a smile as they entered. Myka moved next to him and whispered in his ear to avoid being overheard in the small store.

"There aren't any dragging or scraping marks in the dust beneath where the case used to be."

He looked, confirming her clue, and then leaned to whisper back, accidentally on purpose letting his lips brush her ear just slightly. "So either that sucker was lifted and carried out, which looks pretty impossible, or it wasn't physically moved by a person." A tiny smile of smugness quirked on his lips when she shivered slightly, teasing her was way too easy; so, adding insult to injury; he deviously exhaled a warm breath onto her neck as he pulled back, just to see her shiver once more.

At that moment, Myka was anything but cold. She was torn between extreme annoyance: for she knew he knew what he was doing; and an unexpected emotion she wasn't ready to confront yet, especially with regard to her partner. They locked eyes and she nearly shivered again. She knew he had done it on purpose: he always did, but she had never reacted that strongly before. It was probably just being undercover, she reasoned, having to pretend to be in love with him, but she wasn't so sure-- which was what worried her.

A sweet sounding voice broke into Myka's daydream. "Looking for engagement rings?"

Pete turned his attention to the woman behind the counter with a charming smile. "She's already got one, yesterday was our two year anniversary."

"Oh, how nice." She smiled saccharinely. "What can I help you two with?"

Myka leaned towards her 'husband', placing her right hand on his upper right arm, squeezing just enough to cause him a little payback pain. "Oh we're just looking around, right honey? You have beautiful stuff here." His expression barely changed, even as she observed the rest of him tense and his breathing shallow in response to her pressure. She was a little impressed as she let go, but turned her attention back to the display, pointing out a pair of earrings and asking about the blue stones set in them.

The blond-- whose nametag read 'Sandra', took them out of the case with a flourish. "I could have guessed you would like these. Simple and attractive, but the depth in the lapis lazuli belies a deeper beauty-- and jewelry describes the wearer you know."

Myka smiled in reply as she ran her fingertips over the velvet in the box, re-thinking her negative assessment of being undercover at that moment. She removed one earring and held it up to her ear, inspecting her reflection in a nearby mirror.

"They're vintage 1946-- lapis and white gold. Apparently a GI brought them back from Morocco for his wife after WWII." Myka only exhaled her approval. Sandra smiled, "They are spectacular on you, if you like those you should try…"

Pete tuned them out at this point, hanging back and sticking close to the missing display, looking for any clues while Myka distracted the help. Sandra and his partner had moved progressively down the row of displays toward the back of the store. Myka looked like she was enjoying herself, chatting with the amiable saleswoman.

He approached them after a while; lightly placing a hand on the small of Myka's back to signal that he was done looking around. She scarcely nodded in acquiesce. Pete gave Sandra another charismatic smile, hoping she was easier to charm than his partner. "Can I ask what happened there?" He asked while gesturing to the empty space and crime scene tape.

She frowned slightly, yet retained her cheerful tone. "A bit of a mystery actually. It was there one minute and then it just wasn't."

"How do you mean? It just disappeared?" Myka inquired, still admiring the garnet necklace she was wearing and trying to seem as disinterested as possible.

"It was just the strangest thing really; I went into the back for maybe two minutes to fill out an order for repair and when I came back out I couldn't believe my eyes." Sandra seemed eager to relate the tale-- as it was probably the talk of the town right now.

"Don't you have security cameras?"

"Not since Tim's idiot stepson hit them with a slingshot last May. They weren't ever really necessary, we never had a shoplifting problem."

Pete couldn't help but ask what they took and Sandra looked quite happy to tell them. "Now that is the interesting part, the case that they took was by far not full of our most expensive merchandise, it was mainly vintage items, like the case next to it that had those earrings you loved." She looked significantly to Pete, apparently trying to drop him a hint for his 'wife'. He held back his laughter as she continued.

"They obviously don't know jewelry prices well. Detective Petras is confused because he says everything points to an amateur theft, but how would an amateur pull it off so quickly and cleanly?"

Pete thought back to the bank heists they had just wrapped up. "You'd be surprised."

Myka handed the necklace back to her with a smile of very non-Myka level sweetness. "Oh, do you know Laura Oshea? We met her at the bookstore-- what a sweetheart, and she said we just _had _to stop by."

Pete was astonished at the deftness with which Myka had just slid that question in-- considering the lack of experience she claimed to have with undercover ops; but then again, she had a very steep learning curve.

A warm expression had crossed Sandra's features at the mention of Laura's name. "She's a dear girl, love her to bits-- I used to babysit for her. She comes by on occasion, usually around her birthday or Christmas because her father always gets her something here. I think his wife once told him that the best gift for any girl is jewelry-- if he knew his daughter better he might realize she's not _any girl_. At least he tries, which is more than I can say for her mother… Anyways, she came in here earlier on the day the case disappeared, that would be when I saw her last. I guess she's trying to send business my way after the theft, but ironically, it seems to have increased business substantially."

Myka's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "She was here? The same day?" She cringed inwardly, suddenly realizing her comment might come off as too eager. She quickly regained her composed disinterest. "…that's interesting, a coincidence I guess."

Pete had the impulse to laugh at Myka's falter and quick recovery but refrained, which he inwardly equated to a feat of Hercules-like strength, as he rarely got a chance to laugh at his partner for making mistakes.

Sandra continued obliviously; "Yep, she came in to bring me a funnel cake from the Founder's Day fair-- she's thoughtful like that, the sweetheart. She looked around for a minute with the Collins kid whose always following her around like a lovesick puppy." She leaned closer to Myka and dropped her voice slightly- "She always says he's just a friend, and on her side that may very well be, but the way he looks at her says otherwise. She hasn't been by since-- probably busy with school or something."

Pete had a flash of genius, which Myka would call rare, and started fishing. "Where does she go to school? With her money its probably private right?"

"You would think so, but as a show of solidarity with the townsfolk the mayor sends his children to public school like the rest of the townie kids- Saugatuck Senior High, you can see it from the north end of Main street. I'm an alum as well doncha'know" She raised a small fist upward with a jubilant "Go Muskrats!"

Pete and Myka shared a look of bemusement at Sandra's expense as she put away the jewelry Myka had tried on. They bid the blonde farewell and she exhorted them to come back soon, raising her eyebrows at Pete again, who chuckled inwardly at the hint.

Once again the agents found themselves on Main Street, only slightly less confused than they had been that morning.

…………

Many thanks to the loyal readers who are sticking with me despite the limitations of my schedule! Reviews would be lovely if you have a minute to spare.


	8. Intermediary Yield

Pete felt his stomach protest as they stepped out of the jewelry store. Myka sat down on a nearby bench and began to copy thoughts into her notebook.

Pete rubbed his empty stomach and turned, addressing the mass of curly brown hair that obscured her face as she leaned over her notes. "Yo, Myk, its almost noon and I smell food." Accompanying this veiled plea for lunch was Pete's trademark charming puppy dog eyes.

Her brown eyes acquired a tint of green as she registered his petition and rolled skyward once more at his silly attempt at persuasion. "You always smell food, Pete." She did feel a little hungry, but would rather hear another one of Myrna's long-winded stories of the "old days" than encourage her partner's juvenile behavior. "You know, I guess lunch wouldn't be the worst idea ever."

He surveyed their culinary options, "Wow, your enthusiasm is very comforting Myka."

Spotting one place in particular, Pete decided upon a course of action and grabbed Myka's hand, once again pulling her along with him. She followed without protest this time, weary of fighting his obvious knack for picking the right places to go.

They entered the low-lit wood paneled tavern, the same one Chuck has suggested, and chose an inconspicuous table near the front window, along the far wall. It gave them an unobstructed view of the whole place. A large jolly-looking man in a hunter green apron approached them almost immediately, introducing himself as Hank and taking their lunch orders with a smile of unconscionable friendliness. As he retreated Pete made a face of feigned disgust. "Rye bread Myka? Really?"

Her eyebrows knit together as she let out an exasperated sigh, knowing precisely where he was going with this. She refocused her gaze out the window as she answered him. "Yes, Pete, its healthy. Not all of us feel the need to eat like a ten-year-old boy."

Pete once again made a face and returned his attention to the clientele in their current location. The tavern was fairly empty despite the lunchtime hour. A family sat in a booth along the opposite wall, the father sending his children into fits of giggles by way of the silly walrus he was imitating with two straws in the sides of his mouth. His wife looked on with a disapproving face, yet her eyes shone with unvoiced laughter. Two men sat at a circular table in the middle sharing an early beer and yelling at a football game on ESPN Classic playing on the television sitting above the bar. A lone twenty-ish guy sat at the bar eating French fries, Pete thought he might be of Native American descent.

Their lunch arrived then, instantly refocusing his attention. They ate in companionable silence. Myka found that she liked Pete this way, as she watched him lean back, full and happy; though no doubt he'd be begging to eat again in a couple hours.

There was a sudden commotion and the sound of dishes breaking as the only other waitress collided with a man on his way out. The young man, the same one Pete had noticed before at the bar, scowled and quickly wiping the ketchup off his tanned arm with the terrified girl's dishtowel stalked out of the low light into the glaring sunshine.

Pete met Myka's eyes above the remains of their sandwiches and her eyes agreed with his. He might be someone to consider.

Hank rushed to help the girl clean up and afterwards headed over to retrieve the nice-looking young couple's plates. Now there was an interesting relationship if he'd ever seen one. They seemed to speak without actually talking, and the talking that he had overheard was mostly teasing. It was almost like the mundane stuff didn't have to be said, it was just understood. If they weren't married yet, they were headed for a good one; they seemed to make a great partnership. He and his wife had been like that before she passed; he smiled thinking of the twinkle she always got in her eye when people would asked them if they were fighting because they spoke so little to each other unless it was sarcastic or teasing. The deeper stuff was always there, just under the surface, invisible to everyone else. It was their secret.

"Enjoyed your lunch I hope."

Myka smiled up at him sweetly. "Very much, thank you."

Pete stacked their plates and handed them to Hank. "What I liked best was the big bang towards the end."

Hank chuckled at his joke, but spoke seriously. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. Jim Collins is a bit-- anti-social, I guess. He's a nice enough guy, but I think all the teasing in school about his ethnicity made him a bit of a misanthrope."

Pete latched onto the dropped name instantly. "He wouldn't happen to have a younger brother would he? Somebody mentioned another Collins boy to us this morning-- a friend of Laura Oshea's I think."

Hank smiled in a proud fatherly way; "that would be his cousin, Zag. Plays on the Saugatuck High basketball team, a fine scorer like Jim was; if you ask me though, he'd rather be in the library studying history. That boy knows every fact about the history of his Ottowa Indian ancestors. He's a good one. Lots to recommend him to any of the girls around here, but he's only got eyes for our Laura. She's a odd little duckling, so different from her family-- and I mean that in a very good way." He leaned in closer to the table, apparently not wishing to be overheard. "Those Oshea's pay more attention to their bank accounts and their charity donations than to their lovely daughter. It's a miracle she's turned out so good."

As Hank walked away with one of their Mrs. Frederick-issued credit cards, Myka wondered aloud whether they should bother stopping by the high school before heading out to the "ghost town" which Bill had offered to show them late that afternoon.

"Why wouldn't we?" Pete queried, genuinely confused. "It's a solid lead, and we gotta talk to the principal about that car prank."

Myka regarded him coolly as he flicked a sugar packet halfway across the tavern. Masking her Cheshire cat smile with a patronizing tone, she asked: "What is today's date Pete?"

Realization dawned as he checked his watch for the date. "Right, it's Saturday..." She nodded succinctly as he continued sheepishly, "… and that would be why Laura wasn't in school this morning, yep. So this on-the-job 24/7 thing- not so good for my concept of time."

He saw her eyes laughing at his oversight and he decided to take back the upper hand. "I still think we should head over to the school, because I'm fairly certain we will see our new ketchup covered friend there."

"Now how could you possibly know that Pete? That vibe is pretty thin, even for you."

Pete leaned back in his chair, reveling in the momentary I-know-something-you-don't-know feeling. Myka's eyes flared with annoyance, daring him to keep it up.

"Alright Myk, did you see what he had slung over his shoulder?"

She searched her observant memory for the answer. "Shoes?"

"They were new basketball shoes, Myka, top of the line; and the only court I saw on my jog this morning was…" he paused here, gesturing palm up across the table for her to finish his thought process.

"…At the high school, I got it, I got it." She smiled and nodded impressed. "That's good Pete, very good." She got up and put on her coat, then punched his arm good-naturedly. "That's for not waking me up to come with you."

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And their friend was definitely there. But he was not in a better mood.

Pete and Myka had spotted them as they had rounded the corner at the end of Main Street; Jim stood about a foot from his cousin with one fist clenched at his side and the pointer finger of the other hand just inches from his cousin's face, obviously laying down the law. His shiny shoes no longer hung smartly on his shoulder, but lay dismally discoloring in the muddy melting snow at their feet. He left them there in their soiled shame a minute later, no longer intent upon joining the game. They watched as Zag Collins shook his head and walked back to the court where various ages and sizes of boys and young men were playing basketball, yelling and laughing maybe 20 feet behind the abandoned shoes. None of the guys seemed to have noticed the altercation between their peers.

Pete watched Zag rejoin the game and straightened up from the bench he had been leaning on. "This might be my chance Myka, I'm going to see if I can play with them for a while, maybe talk to our link over there." Pete saw a flicker of hope cross in Myka's eyes, and this time he was the one to roll his eyes.

"And while I get my game on, how about you head back to the bookstore and ask Laura about Zag. Which will also give you the chance you were looking for to go back and look around at all those old musty books you love so much."

She laughed, "was I that obvious?"

He only shrugged, then with a smile, turned and jogged across the street.

Myka relaxed against the wood of the green bench and looked skyward seeing clouds begin to gather on the formerly clear horizon. She breathed in the crisp air and then sighed it back out. She looked back to earth then, seeing Pete gingerly hang the slightly soiled pair of shoes on a nearby tree branch for their owner to come back for. She felt a little like those shoes. Cast off into the cold dirt, no longer shiny and new. Denver had soiled her self-esteem, broken her heart and made her doubt her own capabilities. Then being in D.C. she had tried to clean herself up as best as she could and stuck to the rule book as if her life depended on it. It had served her well, and burying the dirt of her former life had worked, at least until this new assignment. Here all her stains were on display, like those shoes hung over the bare tree branches tied together with muddy laces. Artie seemed to know everything about her, and Pete could read her like a book most of the time. At least Pete didn't pry, he just let her be, and those rare moments when he reassured her and was there for her made her think she might be getting closer to a place where she could heal. Somewhere she desperately wanted to get to. She hated dirt.


	9. Strategic Trading

Myka finally rose from the bench, shoved her gloved hands in her coat pockets; and with a last look over to where Pete was obviously getting along just fine 'ballin' with the town guys, headed back down Main Street intent on answering the siren call of the bookstore.

She walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the view down to the lake. The town of Saugatuck had been built around an inlet in Lake Michigan, still beautifully frozen from the chill of the long winter. The inlet was nearly round, a smooth uninterrupted coastline except for where the larger lake joined on one side and where a river that led inland, at another smaller spot, broke through. Main Street ran up the hill directly across from where Lake Michigan met the inlet; in fact all of the town's streets ran up from the lake, with only small cross-streets to connect them. From here she could see both of the town's bridges: a beautiful red covered bridge spanning the river as it flowed into the inlet, which Myka imagined was quite romantic even in the cold; and the longer, but just as old looking, wooden bridge that spanned the inlet's entrance to the lake. It made the town a complete circle, suddenly reminding Myka of a book she had read as a child about a girl who had fed ducks from a covered bridge while waiting for her father to come home from the war. It had been in a town just like this one, small, wholesome, adorably stuck in the past; but as a child all she had noticed was the girl's devotion to her absent father. She wondered why she didn't love her father as much as that girl did, even though he was right there in their house and not thousands of miles away. She had never been able to answer the question.

She shook her head, sweeping those thoughts back into the depths of her mind and concentrated on the task at hand. She glanced upward at the weathered bookstore sign swinging gently in the algid breeze and passed underneath into the wan light of musty, leather bound knowledge.

* * *

Pete wasn't worried about her at the moment. He knew she was probably in heaven hanging out in that bookstore. He had seen her remain sitting alone on the bench as he first joined the game, but after the next basket she was gone.

Joining had been easy; the group of guys had accepted him right away, probably less because they were being obliging and more because they were now missing Jim. Keeping up with the younger guys was proving to be more challenging, so he put his head in the game.

They puffed about on the court for nearly an hour and a half until Doug, a tall blonde guy, called the game to save the "old timers" --he was 28-- and because he needed to go grocery shopping before "Karen had his head for goofing around all afternoon."

Everyone laughed and exchanged handshakes and farewell hugs.

Zag approached Pete with a smile. "Hey new guy, good playing man. Hope we weren't too hard on you old guys."

Pete chuckled. "I bet Doug, Jack and I could take you and your high school pals any day."

Zag gave him a dubious grin. "Yea, I'm sure man. So, you here on vacation or something? I've never seen you around before."

Pete took his proffered hand and gave it a friendly shake. "Yea, with my wife…" a sudden idea of how to prolong their conversation popped into his head. "…I'm actually about to walk down to the bookshop to find her." Just as Pete expected, Zag's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of the bookshop and he said he would walk down there with Pete to see "his best friend, Laura."

As they headed down the hill Pete asked where he had gotten his name, commenting that he'd never heard it before.

Zag smiled. "Yea, I like it. It's short for 'Zagisee', the Ottawa word for 'to attach firmly' or 'stuck by accident'."

"As in, between a rock and a hard place?"

Zag laughed. "Exactly, and my cousin Jim's name is short for another variation of 'stuck'. It's Minjim, and it kind of means 'stuck because you refuse to let go'.

"Was that the guy you were arguing with before the game?"

Zag's eyes strayed towards the pavement. "Yea he can be a jerk sometimes, and he just makes things worse and worse by being himself. His name really fits him you know."

"Really? What'd he do?"

He scuffed his feet and answered in a dissembling way: "Nothing really, it's not a big deal."

Pete recognized his feigned tone of indifference and broke the tension by changing the subject. "I think I met your friend Laura in the bookstore this morning. Her dad is the mayor right?"

"Yea, that's her. Her dad is kind of a jerk, both her parents are. They're not mean to her or anything; they just pay tons more attention to their investments and charity donations than they do to their daughter. Everybody knows he's a jerk, and Laura doesn't pretend that he's a great guy like the rest of the town does."

Pete nodded knowingly. "So not everybody loves Chuck then, I guess. I heard that story about somebody putting his mustang on the high school roof, now it sounds like he deserved it. I wish I could have pulled off something that intense when I was in high school."

"It was pretty cool. You should have seen his face…"

A sideways look at Zag upheld Pete's newest supposition about who had had a hand in that prank. Zag's face held the same sly, prideful smirk that Pete was so used to making himself.

"No way. You did that?"

Zag's smirk became a grin. "You could say that I wasn't un-involved. Her dad is such a jerk, and we really didn't think we could do it…"

Pete was all at once impressed and suspicious. "How'd you do it?"

Zag began to scuff his orange accented basketball shoes against the aged pavement again, and edged around the question. "It's hard to explain. You kind of had to be there."

Pete didn't want to press too hard despite his growing suspicions, so he again switched subjects, asking how long Zag had been friends with Laura.

"I've known her my whole life, but we've been best friends since the beginning of high school, when we had to write an observation paper together on squirrels for freshman biology, which resulted in us spending a whole day sitting in the woods together. We got a C on the paper because we spent more time talking about nothing and laughing than we did looking for squirrels."

Pete laughed at his anecdote, not because it was that funny, but because he needed a moment to cook up an answer to Zag's next question: how Pete had met his wife.

"…Well, we met at work, we were partnered on a ridiculous and impossible task and even though we spent the whole time fighting, mostly because Myka is such a know-it-all. But somehow," Pete paused, considering the possible reality in his fabrication. "…we both just knew that it was meant to be."

Zag gave him an 'oh-god-how-cheesy' look.

Defending his half-truth, Pete maintained: "You'll be there someday, kid. It's great knowing somebody's got your back no matter what."

The younger man's face changed quickly from aversion to esteem. "That sounds cool, I guess."

Pete said nothing. At that moment he couldn't shake the vibe that came over him during this semi-duplicitous exchange. He would never give voice to it, but it felt something like fate.

* * *

Inside Singapore Books, Myka and Laura were having a wonderful time. Myka was enjoying herself so much she had even ceased being 'on the job', she was just being herself, which was difficult for her to say the least. The conversation never lagged, going back and forth between all the things the two young women had in common: from indifferent parents to growing up in small towns; and from dislike of rap music to a shared love of Charles Dickens.

"I'm not kidding. He invented the word 'boredom'. I googled it during trig once. Dickens' publisher made him edit _Bleak House_ himself, and as a joke to his publisher who called the book a 'bore' he put the word in."

Myka laughed and added _Bleak House_ to her growing stack of thick novels. She asked Laura to find the longest novels the store had; knowing she'd now, being stationed at the Warehouse, have time to read all the long and tedious novels she'd never bothered to attempt before.

By the time Pete and Zag arrived, her stack also included _The Count of Monte Cristo, Atlas Shrugged, Les Misérables, _and the first and fifth volumes of _In Search of Lost Time._

The bell had once again fallen off the door, so Myka didn't realize that Pete and Zag had come in until her partner took one look at the formidable pile and balked. He walked up and squatted behind her placing his hands on her shoulders and rested his head to the left side of hers to look at the stack of fiction. "Jeez, Myka. You really should have been a librarian, you know."

She rolled her eyes at Laura, who giggled. Pete straightened up and offered his hands down to Myka, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor. She set her hands in his and he pulled her up and, surprisingly to her, into his arms. If she was startled by the friendly hug he gave her, she was completely floored when he gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. Being in mixed company, she couldn't question his forwardness or reprimand him, so she just accepted it.

She turned from his embrace to see their two young suspects chatting away. Laura suddenly stood and grabbed Zag's arm leading him into one of the aisles, probably to show him one of the newest books she'd set aside for him.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned on her partner with a look of astonishment and folded her arms across her chest. "Just exactly what do you think you are doing?"

Pete grinned mischievously. "Just greeting you like a guy would greet his wife. You really gotta relax about this ya know, Myk." He rubbed his palms up and down her upper arms to loosen her up. "Being undercover is all about the visual you present. The more we interact, uh, affectionately, the easier it is for people to trust us and believe the cover story. Oh, and by the way, Zag asked how I met you. I told him we met at work and fought like cats and dogs until we realized that we were 'meant for each other' --so just in case someone else asks, we've got a story."

She leaned back against the strong support of the dark mahogany bookshelf and took a deep calming breath in and out, taking in the information. "Kay, Pete. I can deal with that, and as regards our relationship…" she gestured between the two of them with her index finger "…I'll try to be more receptive, for the sake of the case."

Zag and Laura emerged from the next aisle and reentered theirs. Zag was holding a large colorful book open to the middle, while Laura skipped along beside him pointing around his shoulder to something on the page.

"What'cha got there?"

"It's the new comic book encyclopedia! We, bah, I mean 'the store' got it in two days ago." Laura answered Pete enthusiastically, causing him to share a mock-surprised look with Myka, who merely nodded. _Could these kids be more obvious?_

After consulting her watch, Myka elbowed Pete and said, "We've got to go meet Bill."

"Yea, ok." He turned towards the teens, who had their heads buried somewhere between the trivia pages of Marvel and DC. "Hey guys, we gotta go. How about the four of us meet up for coffee tomorrow morning?"

Laura beamed. "Sure! There's a bakery on Plum Street. We'll meet you there at ten, and I'll bring your books to you then Myka, so you don't have to wait around for Mr. Jones to come back from endlessly flirting with Margie in the candy store across the street to pay for them."

Myka smiled. "Thanks so much. We'll see you tomorrow then." She quickly gave her new friend a hug as Pete ushered her towards the door and out into the brisk air.

As the wind blew a few curls into her face, Myka looked at Pete expectantly. Pete knew what she wanted to hear, but didn't give her the satisfaction.

"The comic book thing could be a coincidence you know," he half-jested.

Her eyebrows rose wordlessly once again, and he retracted his joke.

"Yea, I'm not stupid. It was them. Zag told me as much on the walk down here…"

Myka paid close attention as he recounted his conversation while they walked back towards the Wilder Inn, and only hit him once for calling her a know-it-all.


	10. Endowment

The thick gray cloud cover late in the afternoon turned the long barren stretch of beach into a wide overcast expanse of colorless space. The only break in the pale was a thin line of barren trees to the east and the darker gray vastness of ice and water to the west. In the midst of this bland landscape stood three dark figures. They stood in front of a fourth silhouette, one surrounded by yellow police tape. In a moment of reflection, Myka thought of it as a missing piece from a life-sized puzzle; like the piece with the face of the Rat King from her Nutcracker puzzle she had lost, then found under her couch, so many Christmases ago. Separated from where it belonged, strangely out of place. And just like the squinty black eyes and pointy nose of the Rat King, this puzzle piece had a slightly menacing aura about it; though the difference here was that this was indeed real.

"You've got to be kidding me." Pete gawked at the abandoned jewelry case half-sunken into the beige sand, leaning near-precariously to the right, like the tower in Pisa.

His partner only stared, unblinking, at the case, then at him, back at the case, and back at him again. Once again they'd succeeded in encountering the unfathomable.

* * *

Just an hour before, Myka had met Bill on the porch of the Wilder. He greeted her warmly and warned her not to go into the kitchen, for Myrna was cooking up a 'surprise' dinner for her 'favorite guests'. "She loves to cook," He said smilingly. "…Which is just as well because I can't even boil an egg. Myrna cooks, I wash the dishes."

Myka grinned. "Sounds like you guys have a good system."

"Years of practice my dear. That's all it takes. Who cooks in your house?"

Myka faltered, searching her mind for any memories of Pete being at all domestic, and coming up empty. Figures. So, like any good undercover agent, she fibbed. "Neither of us is really any good at cooking, and our jobs keep us so busy, we eat out most of the time."

Bill gave her a friendly smile. "Well you're in for a treat then. Myrna cooks better food than you'll find anywhere around here, including Hank down at the tavern, and he's no slouch."

They stood on the porch for another few minutes, Myka sharing anecdotes from their day around town, while they waited for Pete to pull up with the truck. As he did, Bill offered his arm to Myka in the gentlemanly fashion so rarely seen in our modern age, and escorted her down the long stone path.

Pete watched this transpire from the driver's seat and chuckled to himself. _Myka, being treated like a lady? Hah. She'd smack me if I tried that._

Myka had accepted the gesture mostly to be polite, but she was inwardly impressed that people still did things like that. It touched her to know that he was this attentive and respectful to women, and probably more so, with his wife. She sort of wished that all men would treat her like that, until she noticed Pete smirking in the front seat. _Well, maybe not all men. I'd smack him if he tried this, fake wife or no. _

The ride to the ghost town site was uneventful. Myka sat in the back seat, her gaze steadily trained out the window, allowing herself to daydream as Pete and Bill kept up lively conversation in the front seat. She sat still, observing. The ambient light dimmed as they passed through the red covered bridge; as they emerged on the other side seconds later Myka exhaled heavily realizing she'd been holding her breath. For what reason, she had no idea. Brushing the thought aside, she returned to her reverie, watching the charcoal silhouettes of the trees reflect in the ice covering the inlet. After crossing the wooden bridge only minutes later, and Myka once again realized that without intending to, she had held her breath, almost like she expected something to happen. An unbidden chill ran the length of her spine and she once again brushed it off. _Get a grip, Bering. You don't get vibes, that's the man-child's job._

The road ended only two miles later, turning into densely packed sand, and Bill instructed Pete where to park the truck safely.

They stood around aimlessly for a few minutes, Bill sharing tidbits about the wildlife, until he told them to follow him up the beach so he could show them the old Singapore site.

"It's nothing but lumps of sand now, there's not much to see, but it does lend a chill to the bones, knowing how many people lived their lives right there. They lived, worked, and died there, and all that's left is a lump of sand."

Myka and Pete shared a look, and a covert smile at the old man who was so passionate about his hobby.

Windswept sand piles appeared on the horizon, but that was not what caught the attention of our young agents. The yellow tape was like a 10,000-watt beacon in the sea of gray and beige, beckoning them to investigate. They approached it and found it exactly as Artie had described. The three dark figures stood there staring at a fourth.

* * *

Bill broke the silence that had reigned since Pete's first comment, inviting them to forget the crime scene "police business" and to let him regale them with the stories he so loved to tell.

Pete and Myka held a silent conference, and yet another wordless decision was made. Pete turned and followed Bill's beckoning gesture as Myka pulled out her phone, pretending to check it for messages.

"Oh," she said feigning surprise, "My boss sent me an e-mail. I'll catch up with you guys in a sec, ok?"

Bill nodded. "Of course, you'll be able to see us. It's just over there."

Pete followed him, tossing looks over his shoulder at Myka the whole way.

She watched them go, waiting until they were far enough away. She started by taking a few pictures with her phone's camera, immediately sending them to Artie. She circled the case several slowly several times, sizing it up, confused as hell about how it had possibly gotten here. Myka crouched to clear the sand carefully from the base where the wind had swept a significant amount of loose sand up against the glass front. The case looked undisturbed; apparently the police hadn't even swept it for prints or evidence yet.

When she reached the base of the glass she ran her fingers underneath the bottom of the case. Near the middle her fingers brushed something. She peeled it off slowly, gathering sand on the small pieces of clear tape that had affixed it to the bottom. She held it up with her fingers and felt no familiar 'artifact' shock, but she put it in the shiny bag from her pocket anyway. It gave off a barely discernable glow for less than a second, if it was part of the artifact; its energy had already been used up.

After deciding it to be benign, she laid it on top of the case and looked at it through the clear side of the containment bag. It was some sort of currency. It said "Singapore" and "three dollars" in block printing next to an image of a ship with full sails. The signature was what caught her eye. They were signed and dated _D.S. Wilder 1837 _on a printed line labeled "President". She had no doubt about what she had just found, an old Singapore bank note, but what she couldn't grasp was why it was taped to the underside of a stolen jewelry case. She sent Artie a picture and continued her investigation of the glass case.

It held no other clues, but she was sure Artie would find something now that he had a picture to go off of. He always did.

She tucked the evidence in her jacket and trotted off towards her two companions she could just spot in the distance.


	11. Complete Appraisal

Hey out there, apologies for the delay… back in school and such. BTW most of this chapter's artifact-y stuff is totally made up, so nobody bust me on it please. Bits of it are true, but the overall theory is crap-- and not true. Love to all my readers! …even if you don't review.

P.s. You all should really thank Sun Krux for encouraging me to speed up and post this chapter. Thanks!

* * *

And as promised, dinner was wonderful. Bill and Myrna made very gracious hosts, and the agents finally met the enigmatic Mr. D'arcy.

D'arcy was in his late-30's, had shaggy black hair and a charismatic personality. He was, by his own admission, not a very popular writer and said he was "published, though only by independent houses". A former journalist, he wrote news or magazine articles on commission whenever he was having cash-flow problems.

Pete had no vibes about him, even though he was writing a mystery novel set in old Singapore, so he excused himself and his 'lovely wife' before dessert under the pretense of needed rest after a long day. He knew Myka had found a clue on the beach and he was itching see it. They hadn't had any privacy yet because Myrna had whisked them out of the car and into the dining room the second they arrived.

Instead of Myrna, it was Bill who winked significantly at Pete and wished them a 'good night's rest'.

Pete was glad that Myka apparently missed this exchange as he pulled out her chair for her. He had the feeling something like that might damage the platonic physical rapport they'd begun to develop. He liked the way that they were getting along, even if it was mostly a sham. Myka had impressed him today with the cant of her learning curve with regards to undercover work; she could have fooled him if he didn't already know better.

The fact that they got almost all the way up to their room with his hand still gently resting on the small of her back oddly thrilled him, and that thrill might have been worrisome had he not been so tired. If she was being honest, Myka didn't even notice until he had removed his hand to open their door. She inwardly shrugged the thought off as mental fatigue, because she definitely wasn't prepared to accept the thought that she might have subconsciously liked it.

No sooner had they fallen exhausted onto their respective beds-- Myka on her back, and Pete right on his face-- did they hear the persistent buzzing of their trusty lifeline. Pete turned his face from the mattress to look over at Myka, who was now propped up on her elbows throwing a murderous glare at the front pocket on her shoulder bag, which was so frustratingly out of her reach.

He spoke up. "Artie really needs to work on his timing, this makes twice this case that I have been supremely comfortable when he decides to grace us with his expertise."

One side of Myka's lips quirked up in amusement as she watched her partner roll dramatically off the bed, landing with a resounding 'thump' within arms-length of the madly droning Farnsworth. He reached in and fished out the device, but before opening it turned to Myka chuckling at his most recent thought.

"God knows what they thought downstairs when they heard that."

Myka sat up fully, utilizing her best posture when she realized what he was insinuating; she meant to fling a bitingly sarcastic "As if." in his direction, but he'd already flipped open the Farnsworth and greeted their crazy boss.

She interrupted her partner, mid-crappy-it's-cold-in-Michigan-joke, nudging him aside and pushing her way onto the screen. "Artie, I have something important for you. The old bank bill I sent you pictures of… it um, gave off a slight glow when I put it in the containment bag, so I think it's connected to our artifact."

She took it out of her jacket pocket and Pete immediately snatched it from her, being that he hadn't seen it yet. His commentary was hardly effusive. "This is it? It doesn't look like much."

Artie frowned in black and white. "Pete, how many times do I have to tell you how seemingly insignificant things can hold…"

Apparently Pete had been told this very thing many times because he finished Artie's sentence for him. "…immense power. I know, I know."

Their boss raised one eyebrow slightly and then returned to the subject at hand. "Ok, Myka, how slight of a glow are we talking here? A contained or neutralized artifacts' flare can be extremely-- um, variable depending on it's power or contact with a source of power."

She thought for a second, searching through any and all of the artifact surges she'd seen so far during this completely mad re-assignment of theirs. "It wasn't like any I've ever seen. It was so faint that I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking closely-- the paper sort of glowed and then returned to normal."

The curly-haired man adjusted his spectacles and sat back in his creaky chair. "Well then it isn't an artifact, but it has had dealings with one-- You said it glowed? Then it isn't a bifurcated artifact, you know… which is where each item is an artifact in and of itself, but needs the other artifact close by to function. No, what you two are probably dealing with is something like a residual artifact-- something that came into …um, contact, well, extended contact with an artifact of some power and the energy from the original artifact was somehow… transferred to this bill."

Pete decided not to remain left out of the conversation and interjected: "So how are we going to know what is powering up this bill? …And while we're on the subject-- what the heck does this 'larger artifact' even do?

The fuzzy face on the screen disappeared for a second, and then re-appeared with the second largest book Pete had ever seen. He thought for a second that he'd even felt the vibration from the loud 'thump' when Artie deposited the massive volume in front of his Farnsworth.

Opening it to a Post-it noted section he explained: "The local population before immigration of European settlers to that area was the Ottawa tribe. One of whom gave our historical figure, Mr. Wilder, quote: '_a gift of a mystical sort'_ to help with his gold transportation problem. It is recorded here that the Ottawa considered themselves the most strong-willed and excellent warriors of any tribe of humans."

Myka mumbled. "How humble of them." Artie, of course, heard her.

"Yes, they were an extremely proud and very resourceful people. The important thing here is that they believed strongly in the force of the human mind, and that just by willing something to happen, that, with the right tool or combination of words they could influence nature and even the future.

"Sounds like my grandmother."

Myka smiled at Pete's joke, Artie merely grunted charitably and continued.

"The artifact you are looking for enables someone to exert their will onto inanimate objects. Specifically, willing an object to move, as evidenced by the mayor's car and the mailbox. There is probably some sort of phonetic trigger, probably in the native Ottawa tongue; so when you find a suspect you'll need them to tell you what the 'magic word' is."

"We have three suspects. Two of which we've arranged to speak with tomorrow morning." Myka said professionally.

"Names?" Artie inquired.

Pete recited the names from memory. "Laura Oshea, and cousins Zagisee and Minjim Collins."

Artie held out his answering "Ok…" as long as he could while punching the names into the Warehouse's monster search engine.

"Here we are, Laura Lucy Oshea, daughter of Charles Henry Oshea III and Juliette Lucy Wilder. Age 17, academic record outstanding, but a school psychologist's record of pranks suggesting a deeper need for attention, especially from adults." His voice got lower and less audible as he went on until neither Pete nor Myka could hear him.

"Ok. She looks promising, with her family connection she'd most likely be the one to have found the artifact, and from what I see here…" He said pointing off-screen towards his computer, tapping the monitor twice on top of a mug shot the search had found. "…Minjim, the older cousin is almost certainly our jewel thief; though catching him and retrieving the jewelry is secondary to the recovery of the artifact of course."

"Of course." Pete affirmed.

"Of course." Myka stated hesitantly; she was still getting used to this whole 'recover the artifacts, leave the less mysterious crimes to the local LEO's', thing.

"Alright guys, that's it. Bag and tag tomorrow ok? I want you guys back here before Tuesday at the latest." Artie sat back in his chair, satisfied with the progress that had been made, when his eye caught an illustration in the book on his desk.

Pete saluted into the Farnsworth and closed it, dusting his hands together. "Well that's done." He got up from the floor and offered Myka a helping hand.

She smirked at him as he helped her up. "No kiss this time sweetie?" She intoned as mockingly as she could.

Pete narrowed his eyes. "Mock all you want, but I happen to know more than a few women who would love to be on the receiving end of my undercover stealth moves."

"I'm sure." She said, not quite convinced. "Do you want the bathroom first Pete?"

"Nah. Go ahead."

"Kay."

Myka slept peacefully that night, a rarity for her since Denver. Knowing that her new partner had her back, despite his immaturity, was beginning to give her a sense of overwhelming serenity. This emotion might however, just have resulted from the fact that her bed was extremely comfortable.

She slept peacefully that is, until the Farnsworth awoke them both around 3 am. Pete had left the infernal communication device on the glass-topped coffee table, amplifying the normally irritating trill into a thundering rattle waking them both instantly.

Pete threw his pillow across the room towards the offending noise as Myka turned on her bedside lamp. She made a reproachful face at him as the marshmallow like shape hit the opposite wall, well off target. Once she could think clearly, Myka retrieved the Farnsworth. She opened it, turned it on and was greeted by a slightly worse-for-wear looking Artie.

"So I'm guessing you haven't slept yet."

"Yes, I had a breakthrough and wanted you to have this information before you talk to these kids tomorrow."

Pete had made it over to the couch at this point, leaning in behind Myka to get his face on the screen. "Seriously Artie? Geez, it couldn't have waited until breakfast?"

Artie's voice intensified like the Farnsworth rattling on glass. "NO_, it couldn't wait Mr. Lattimer._"

Myka leaned back away from the shouting; inwardly smug that Pete had gotten in trouble. As she leaned back though, she suddenly remembered something; Pete was right behind her, and Pete slept shirtless didn't he? Before she could stop it from happening her bare shoulders brushed against the warm skin of his muscled chest.

She gasped slightly and recoiled, and unbidden blush crossing her cheeks. Touching him was not an option. No matter how attractive he was. _He's annoying, Myka. Remember? Childish, frustrating and unprofessional._ She let out her held breath and the smugness welled back up within her. She'd be fine.

What she didn't see was Pete swallow a smile before apologizing to Artie.

"Ok Artie, I'm sorry, but do you know what time it is?"

"I am well aware, however, there is something you'll need to know tomorrow. The Ottawa tribe upheld certain plants and animals as sacred. The elm tree was one of these sacred plants. They called it 'mashkawendam' which means 'strength of will'. This artifact is made of elm wood, giving it the powers attributed to that tree. From the rough Ottawa that I can translate it was a possession of their great chief Pontiac. There is no illustration, but it says that it has an eagle on it somewhere. My best guess is that it is some sort of container, maybe a box that the bills, plural because I'm assuming there are more of them, were store inside of once the bank was shut down in the 1880's."

Myka was beginning to understand. "So like leaking radiation, the… um, artifact-iness kind of seeped into the paper for over a century?"

Pete was nodding, also apprehending where Artie was going with this. "So the bills now act like mini-artifacts. Alright, so what we know is that it is an elm wood box and that it gives someone the power to move stuff around like that girl from the horror movie who got pig's blood poured on her at prom."

Myka rolled her eyes predictably, but was also remembering how immeasurably terrifying that movie was.

Artie's face contorted slightly, searching through his vast memory for that particular pop-culture reference. "To put it quite broadly, yes. The elm wood native to that area has a light mahogany color, with a golden tint to it. You'll know it when you see it."

Myka was already knee deep in notetaking, filling a page in her little black notebook by the dim light of the one lamp that was on.

Pete took one look at her, scrubbed a palm over his face drowsily and whined: "This is all really really interesting and everything, but can I go back to bed now Artie?"


	12. Net Loss

Just to warn you guys, there's some conflict a-brewing in this chappy… but don't fret, our heroes always make up in the end. Hmmm-- if only they would kiss and make up.

* * *

As Pete shut the Farnsworth after a curt goodbye from Artie, he looked over at his partner, who was dutifully scribbling in her notebook. He'd never really know if the next thing out of his mouth was honestly his current feelings or just his own insecurity coupled with his fatigue, but at that moment he wasn't really thinking at all.

"God, do you ever stop working?! You're like a robot. A freaking non-stop, robot-thing."

She looked up, expressionless. "At least I'm working and not whining to Artie like a sleepy five year old." Her tone remained calm, she knew he was tired and didn't really mean it, but she couldn't let him call her a robot and get away with it.

He interpreted her forced serenity as patronizing and it made him even more annoyed. He was tired of being thought of as second best; he was good at his job and he knew it, even with his childlike and spontaneous nature that seemed to irk Myka so much. He wasn't second best. He wasn't. "Yea, I'm tired. Yes, I can whine a little when I'm tired. Sure, I can act like the five year old or ten year old at times; but at least I express my emotions Myka. I'm not a robot like you. And you know what? I think goofing off sometimes makes me better at my job because even though you don't think so, I am good at my job. I'm just as good as you, if not better, because I'm a better team player than you are."

Myka was getting frustrated. She didn't really understand where all this was coming from, this didn't sound like Pete. She was not a robot. "I'm a team player! What are you talking about Pete?"

His voice rose again, a certain malevolence entering his tone, even as he kept the volume somewhat conservative, not wanting to wake anyone up.

"Did you even notice that you took ALL the credit for finding that stuff today without even mentioning me?

Myka tried to remember exactly what she'd said, and realized the truth of his accusation. This recognition would have been enough to make her apologize, if only he had not continued his heated tirade.

"…and hell, I'm the one who actually wants to do this job Myka; you just wish you could go back to being 'little miss hero' in D.C. You can suck up as much as you want to Artie, and be as pushy and harsh as you want, but don't pretend you actually want to be my partner and then take credit for work we did together!"

That was it. She was tired too, feeling impugned, and wasn't going to have any more of this. "PETE." He stopped mid-rant and finally looked her in the eye. She bit out her next few words like they dripped of poison. "Just. Shut. Up."

They locked eyes in silence, emotions clashing in the charged air. After several minutes, Pete's anger began to fade, and he started realizing just how much he had said, and just how much of what he said could have hurt her. A realization struck him. He really was that five year old, calling out names, insults instead of dealing with issues like an adult. He was a little ashamed of himself. He looked to the floor for a second and shuffled his feet.

He looked up after a second and met her eyes again. It was then that he saw it. For a split second, he saw the hurt look escape from behind the passionate fury. He felt a momentary pang of regret, he wasn't really that mad at her. He'd overreacted and he was more sorry every second that passed. However, this five year old sure as hell wasn't going to apologize first. He might have been sorry, but he was still stubborn.

Instead he gave up, sighed and turned away from her. "Let's just go to sleep." He said softly, figuring that they would talk in the morning.

But when Pete woke up, the corner bed was empty, and neatly made. A quick survey of her neatly folded belongings suggested that she'd gone for a run.

He showered, and had nearly finished dressing when she returned. She passed by noiselessly into the bathroom, her spotless white sneakers squeaking slightly on the wood floor. She refused to make eye contact, and acted as if he wasn't even there. Pete flinched slightly as she shut the door a little harder than necessary and felt his stubborn side take over again. _So that's how she wants it, huh? Well, fine by me._

A brisk knock on the other door interrupted his last thought. It opened to reveal a smiling Myrna in her Sunday best, inquiring whether the nice couple would like to accompany her and Bill to church. Pete smiled genuinely and declined politely, saying that they had a coffee date that morning with some new friends.

"Well that sounds like fun honey! Now you just take that lovely wife of yours and go on and enjoy your morning and Bill and I will see you later. There's oatmeal, eggs and toast down in the kitchen keeping warm for ya when you want some breakfast."

"Thanks, Myrna."

With that, she gave him a friendly little hug and went on her way. Pete looked down the hall after her, smiling to himself and shaking his head slightly.

He ducked back into the room and left Myka a little note saying he would wait for her downstairs, then went to the kitchen to see about that warm breakfast.

* * *

Yea, it's a little short, but I felt bad about making you guys wait so long. Dumb schoolwork. But never fear! I have spring break this week, so I'm hoping to catch up on this fic-- maybe *crosses fingers* even finish it!

This felt a little OOC to me, but I wanted Pete to be the aggressor for the plot to continue the way I'm planning.

Does anyone agree and/or have suggestions? Lemme know!


	13. Hedge

Another update?! Hooray! Still a little short, but I hope better than nothing.

* * *

She didn't say anything when she came downstairs. She didn't answer him when he asked about her jog. She barely looked up when he said that it was 9:45 and that they should get going; and was silent on the walk to the bakery.

They were within sight of their destination and Pete caught the familiar smell of fresh bread on the breeze. He looked over to his taciturn partner, who was striding purposefully in the direction of the bakery.

Pete couldn't take it anymore, which he supposed might be the point of her freeze out in the first place. He couldn't bear the deafening quiet any longer so he gently grabbed Myka's forearm, stopping her and spinning her around to face him. She didn't resist.

"Myka…" He started gingerly.

She didn't meet his eyes. She still skillfully avoided his gaze, looking anywhere but his face. He wanted so badly to apologize, but he knew that Myka wasn't ready to forgive him yet. He didn't even know if his own apology would be completely sincere, but he couldn't live with the look of indignation he saw just below Myka's façade of quiescence.

If he was a more suave man, or if they hadn't been in a fight he might have reached out and tipped her chin up with a finger and gained eye contact that way. However, the situation being what it was, he did something much more characteristic-- something a little goofy.

Myka's gaze was set firmly into the concrete sidewalk at her feet so Pete crouched down, sat indian style at her feet, and looked up into her eyes. When she registered his actions, he saw surprise and the beginnings of a smile contained in her jaded green eyes.

He began again from his new position of abasement. "I know you are still mad, and you have every right to be; but before we go in I think we need to call a truce. I'm not expecting forgiveness from you, but we are still undercover for the time being. All you have to do is pretend you like me until we reach the point where we can tell these kids who we really are. Ok?"

She nodded in acquiesce and his grin grew two sizes.

"… and if your performance yesterday is any proof, you're getting very good at pretending to like me."

A sideways ghost of a smile assured Pete that they would be just fine. She offered him a hand and helped him up off the ground. As further proof of their relationship's burgeoning rehabilitation Myka left her hand in his as they walked up to the weathered purple storefront of the Lansing Bakery.

A chime, similar in pitch to those above the door in the bookstore signaled their arrival into the bakery.

Zag and Laura spotted them immediately, waving the partners over to their table; which was also purple, but had white polka dots painted all over it.

Laura gave Myka a hug while Pete and Zag bumped fists.

When they'd all sat down, Myka across from Zag with Pete to her right, Laura was the first to speak up.

She spoke with a smile that traveled up into her pretty grey-blue eyes. "I'm so glad you guys came! We took the liberty of ordering you guys the best coffee drink in town. Even we don't know exactly what's in it but it is awesome." She giggled. "It's called the 'Michiganichino'."

Pete heard Myka laugh for the first time in twelve hours and it was like cool rain hitting blistered desert sand. This fight was really getting to him.

"Oh, and I brought you your books Myka." She finished, leaning under the table and retrieving a thick stack of books tied together with peanut colored twine.

Myka slid them towards herself with a smile. "How much do I owe you?"

"Eh, don't worry about it. It wasn't much anyways. Mr. James gave them to me cheap since nobody ever buys books that thick around here." She laughed. "Consider it a 'welcome to Michigan' gift."

A young blonde guy, who looked to be about the teenager's age, interrupted them with a tray of large bowl-shaped mugs. "Speaking of Michigan, here are your drinks." He set them down one by one and then wiped his hands on his purple apron.

He looked at Pete and Myka, figuring that they were new and introduced himself as Greg. Before he left he replied to Pete's raised eyebrows with a look of understanding. "Purple polka-dot apron, I know. Awkward. Everything is either purple or polka-dots, or both. The Lansings have a little obsession. Well I should say that Mrs. Lansing has a little obsession, and Mr. Lansing has a little obsession with her."

Zag snickered quietly along with his schoolmate and Laura giggled. Pete was the first to try his 'Michiganichino'. It was good, if a little rich. Myka thought there might be some hazelnut flavor in there somewhere, but wasn't sure.

Pete looked at her over the steaming mugs and inclined his head slightly towards their new friends, indicating that it was time. He left it up to Myka to begin, she was always better at verbalization under pressure or awkward circumstances.

She decided just to go in for the kill.

"So guys, we were glad you invited us this morning because we need to be upfront with you about some stuff, but we need you to keep it a secret. Can you do that?"

Both teens nodded, both looking a little confused.

"First of all,…" Myka looked at Laura. "Everything I told you yesterday was true, except we're not really married and we're not really on vacation. We are undercover Secret Service agents who work for a special government branch that recovers objects with certain strange-- attributes." For confirmation, Pete slid his badge across the table to Zag; who looked at it in mute bewilderment.

Laura stared at her reflection in the chestnut pool she held between her palms.

Myka continued more delicately. "Secondly, I think you know that we know about what you guys have been doing."

Zag glanced over at the curtain of chocolate curls that obscured his cohort's downcast face and then looked to Pete, culpability written all over his dark features.

Myka looked between the two nervous adolescents. "You guys aren't in trouble. We don't care about the comic books. We just need to know what you know. Just the truth." She finished slowly.

Zag and Laura exchanged stares for a minute, and then turned back to the agents.

Laura sighed heavily. "I guess we knew someone would eventually find out, and it's probably a good thing because we are rapidly running out of options as regards Zag's cousin. He has it now. The stuff."

Myka reached out her hand and gave Laura's a squeeze. "Just start at the beginning. Ok?"

* * *

Ooh. Cliffy. Review or I leave you hanging out there for longer. Just kidding. But really.


	14. Direct Deposit

So, my method is to post what I write as its finished-- which means sometimes almost a month between updates, or like this week like three days between updates... Lucky for you I didn't go away for spring break. And to quote a favorite childhood television show: Awwww, here it goes!

* * *

Laura swallowed, took a deep breath and began her story.

"So it started last spring, when my mother offered me-- and this is a direct quote '500 dollars if you just get all that junk out of the east attic. I don't care where it goes or how you do it. That's what kids are for right? To clean up all your crap." She paused and looked around the table and continued sarcastically; "And people wonder why I hate them."

Zag grinned at her and took over. "She offered to split the cash with me if I helped. It took a whole weekend, but there was so much cool old stuff up there that we didn't even care."

Laura nodded in agreement. "We made a killing selling a lot of it to Mr. Wooster, who runs the antique store; but there was one specific thing- a wooden box with an eagle carved in the top- that we didn't get rid of or sell." She paused again here and Myka finished for her.

"Because of what it could do?" The kids nodded. Pete asked how they had originally figured out what it could do.

"Zag discovered it, I mean, I didn't even know that I could do it until the car incident."

Pete grinned at the brunette. "Later on I want to hear that whole story, but for now…" he said turning to Zag "…we really need to know how it works."

Zag sighed calmly. "It feels really good to finally tell someone about this. It feels like its been weighing on me forever. So when we originally found the box we thought it looked cool and it was the perfect size for some of my collectible comics-- the real valuable ones. I've got an almost mint Amazing Fantasy #15 that is gonna pay for my college."

"Dude, that is _awesome_!" Pete looked so adorably excited that Myka almost forgave him right then and there.

Laura laughed. "When we looked inside the box there was this stack of old bills with 'Singapore Bank' written on them; I figured that the box was my great-great-great grandfather's because he put eagles on everything."

Myka took out the evidence bag and slid it across the table.

Zag looked at it then passed it to Laura. "Yea, like that..."

Laura interrupted him. "They looked really delicate, I thought they'd just disintegrate if I touched them, but I guess they are more durable than they look."

"We kept them too, so we could use them for a joke or something later. You know, like leave them as a tip somewhere. We finished moving all the stuff out, I took the box home and Laura kept the stack of money."

"I put it on my bookshelf." Laura remarked absently, still examining the bill through the transparent plastic.

Zag went on. "On my way home I noticed that there was a gold coin inlaid into the bottom of the box so when I got home I looked at the whole box closer. On the inside edges of the lid there were two words written in Ojibwe, the old phonetic Ottowa language. My grandmother, who is one of the last Ottowa left, taught me to read it when I was little. The first word was simply 'ottowa', the name that the white settlers gave the tribe because that's what they'd say after a trade-- which is what it means-- 'to trade'. My grandmother described it like a handshake to seal a deal. The other word took forever to figure out. I had to find the dictionary my grandmother put together for me. It was a compound word, and there are all these complicated rules for those, but I finally found it. It sounds like 'gin-ew' and it means 'golden eagle'."

He leaned closer over the table and lowered his voice slightly. "Here's where it gets freaky. I picked up the box to read it closer and make sure I'd gotten the word right. I read it out loud, said 'Giniw' and a split second later the stack of bills just appeared in the box."

"And apparently disappeared off my bookshelf. There wasn't even a cool sound effect like in _I Dream of Jeannie_."

Zag smirked at his friend and continued. "I was so freaked out. I didn't know what to do, so I shut the box and stuck it in the back of my closet for like two months. When school let out, I got bored and curious so I kinda started to experiment with the box to see what it could really do."

He paused for a sip of his coffee. "After a couple days I figured it out. When I said 'giniw' the box like, 'called' the bills and whatever they were inside of or attached to. If the object was bigger than the box it would end up to one side or underneath the box; and if it was smaller it would just appear in the box. Another weird thing was that it seemed like only I could do it. I had my half-brother try it and nothing happened."

Myka looked worried for a second that they'd have to find his half brother and swear him to secrecy too, but Zag assured her that he hadn't told Tyler what was supposed to happen, just to say the magic word.

"Plus-- he's five years old."

Laura giggled. "Yea, I think the only 'people' Tyler would even think to tell would be his imaginary friend Bert, and maybe Martin, his pet brontosaurus."

Pete and Myka both smiled, somewhat relieved to not have another person involved in the case.

"As soon as he got up the courage, Zag came into the bookstore to show me."

"She obviously thought I was high or something."

Laura nodded vigorously, eyebrows raised comically. "Wouldn't you have? You came in talking about a magical box that teleported stuff! So he took a book off the nearest display," she looked over at Myka significantly, "it was the newest Richard Castle mystery…"

Myka had just taken a sip from her coffee, so her exclamation of "Love him!" was further punctuated by the subtle thump of her ceramic mug on the wooden table.

"I know right? So he takes out one of those bills, which, by the way, I hadn't even noticed were gone; stuck it in the pages, put it back on the display and dragged me out onto the sidewalk." Her blue eyes got even larger as she continued. "I couldn't even believe it when I opened the box and saw that book in there, because I know how bad Zag is at magic tricks. In the sleight of hand department, he's about as subtle as a car backfiring."

Zag narrowed his eyes at her slightly and she just laughed at his consternation. He picked up the story, but spoke in hushed tones. "That ended up being the day that we stole a bunch of the best comics. We put a bill in each one before we left, waited like an hour after Mr. James closed the store, then just said the magic word."

"It's not like anyone but the two of us even reads comics in this tiny town. Nobody would ever have even bought them." Laura justified quietly, not seeming particularly confident in her own argument.

Zag's guilty expression mirrored Laura's. "We didn't even try anything else for a while after that, because we felt so bad about it. But then after Mr. James kept refusing to give Laura a job, we felt a little better. We got the box back out and tried a couple of little harmless pranks."

"Like the mailbox?" Pete offered.

The two teens shared a grin. "Yea, that was my favorite one," said Laura. "It was so hilarious to watch everybody freak out the next day."

Zag smiled. "We were just doing harmless stuff like that, we didn't want to hurt anyone or steal too much from anyone who would miss it. Like one night we moved all of the picnic tables from in front of the ice cream shop into the parking lot three blocks away. That was a pretty good one too. But I think the best was moving the quarterback Dave Callender's mother's huge pink flowered couch into the Landis' front yard after his 18th birthday party."

Laura suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh my god! I had totally forgotten that one! Mrs. Landis totally thought that Dave's stupid gorilla football teammates did it."

"I'm not surprised you forgot that one. You were pretty toasted at the time." Zag quipped sardonically.

Laura just made a face at him.

Pete shared a look with Myka. There was key part of the story that they were still missing; neither Zag nor Laura had brought up Jim or the jewelry case yet.

Pete decided it would be best just to ask the blunt question. "So how did Jim get his hands on the box? He was the one who stole the jewelry right?"

Zag didn't look too surprised at the agent's assumption. He rolled his eyes and shook his head then spoke in a tone laced with resentment. "Yep, my cousin is a first rate piece of crap. He'd steal from his own mother. Cruel and greedy, but also stupid. He heard us talking about all the money one day about three weeks ago-- we weren't that careful when we talked about the box because we figured we could just say we were talking about a comic if anyone got too interested. He didn't buy it and well-- he's bigger than me, so he beat me up until I told him everything."

Laura winced at the painful memory. "That's not exactly the truth. He beat you up in front of me until _I_ told him everything."

Zag's pained gaze shifted to the floor momentarily; then back to Laura, who reached out and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. She spoke again. "Then he cooked up this stupid jewelry store heist like he was Jason Bourne or something and threatened to tell everybody what we'd stolen if we didn't help him."

Regaining the power of speech, Zag continued for her. "All we had to do was go in and stick the money to the case that he'd picked out. So we did; and while he was occupied going through all of his loot later we snuck the box back to Laura's house. We locked it in the big wall safe in the basement so he couldn't use it anymore." He looked to Pete and added, "that's why he went off on me at the basketball game. He still has the bills and is furious that I won't give him the box back, but he knows if he beats me up again I have something on him and could get him in a ton of trouble."

Laura's face held an expression of gravity that Myka had never seen on the normally cheerful girl. "You have to take that stuff away from here and lock it up. It's not fun anymore."

Myka was filled with compassion for the two friends. "That's just what we are here to do."

Pete nodded, then leaned in and looked around the table conspiratorially. "All we need is a good plan."

* * *

*makes sad confused 4-year-old face* Review? Pwease?

Haha, but seriously.


	15. Net Overhead

*timidly with puppy dog eyes* Hi… guys… long time no see, huh?

Ok, I'm really sorry about the THREE MONTHS that I've neglected my faithful readers and my writing in general! School got the best of me and lately summer semester has been holding fanfic writing just out of reach and taunting me. It's kind of horrible. But I want you all to know that I have no intention to abandon this fic. None. It will be finished! –And I'm setting the tentative goal of the season 2 premiere to finish this thing once and for all.

I love writing this story as much as you (hopefully) love reading it. If only I could carve out the time to write it. I'm spitefully neglecting my homework as I write this, lol. It needs to be taught a lesson anyway.

This is too short, but at least we're getting somewhere.

* * *

The sidewalk was too narrow for four as they walked towards Laura's house to retrieve the box from her father's safe. Myka and Zag walked ahead, the former questioning the latter about the specifics of the artifact and continuing to sketch out their plan to retrieve it.

Pete and Laura trailed behind laughing and chatting.

"So you have a brother?"

"Yea, he's three years older than me, and left me here to deal with my crazy parents while he's off in college."

Pete gave her a sympathetic look. "So what is really the deal with them? I've heard stuff around town, but I'd like to hear the true story from you—since you'd know."

Laura shrugged a little and picked an early daffodil from above the brick retaining wall they were walking past. She lifted it to her nose to breathe in the scent, the copper freckles on the bridge of her nose contrasting with the lemon yellow flower. "My dad, who insists that I call him Chuck to make him feel younger, is a politician through and through. Everything is about him. My mother's seemingly endless money made him pretty shallow, even though he came from a prominent family too. They're something like 5th cousins, because the Wilders and the Osheas are descendants of the same families that first settled here. They are married, I think, because they are exactly the same, and they both love themselves immensely- it's almost like they try to outdo each other in superficiality. Which doesn't leave much room to pay attention anyone else, let alone your kids."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it." Laura shrugged again. "Deep down I can't really hate them too much, because I realized that this is the only life they've ever known, so mostly I just feel sorry for them."

"Unless they piss you off."

She laughed. "Exactly- they tend to do that a lot."

Suddenly Zag turned around, wildly vibrating cell phone in his hand. "Jims calling me back." He looked to Pete. "I should answer right?"

"Yep. Just remember what we planned." Said Pete encouragingly.

"Got it." Zag confirmed as he pressed his thumb to the green symbol on his phone and held it to his ear. The others gathered around him on the sidewalk in silent support. They only heard one side of the conversation but it sounded like Jim was buying the charade they'd cooked up.

"Yea? You get my message?"

…

"Nah, I'm not mad anymore."

…

"I'm not going to tell anyone o.k.? Can we just call it even for now?"

…

"O.k., yea, like I said I found an interested party. She's rich, the real deal. Your cut would be half a mil- apparently in untraceable bonds."

…

"I don't know, she approached me on the street man, how the hell am should I know how she knows about it? She mentioned hearing about the jewel theft and 'looking into it'. She's all mysterious and stuff, like a spy or something. All covert ops and junk."

…

He rolled his eyes with a slight smile. "Yea she's hot, what does that matter, loser?"

…

"Yes I'm sure. She said to meet her on the inlet bridge at 10 tonight with the stuff. Laura has the box. Yea, of course she knows about it."

…

"Forget it man. She doesn't want a cut, she's just in for the thrill."

…

"Shut up. Bye."

…

"Yea."

Three expectant faces waited impatiently as he put his phone back in the pocket of his dark jeans. Zag's nonchalant expression changed into an impish grin. "He totally bought it. After I added that spy stuff you should have heard him, it was like all his dreams were about to come true."

The expectant faces changed into satisfied smiles.

Laura looked ahead of them, "My house is just up here." She pointed towards a gravel driveway that curved out of sight up the hill. "No Versailles jokes please" Pete and Myka shared a grin with her, but not eachother.

Her house was, indeed, enormous; made even more so by it's huge pillars and the fact that it was painted white and situated in a forest of dark green. A temple to vanity; it was full of expensive designer furniture that Laura called "uselessly uncomfortable".

They headed downstairs and got the box out of the safe with no problems; also borrowing a black briefcase from Chuck's study to use as a prop later. They would fill it with old voided bonds from the Wilder family records up in the attic.

Pete coughed his way into the attic first, eyes adjusting to the dim light. It was mostly empty, save for the old style file cabinets lined against one wall.

Laura spoke up. "We never could move these, so we just left them here. They're full of alphabetized old records. Apparently one of my ancestors was like an O.C.D level of organized."

"That's obviously not genetic then. You're a mess." Zag quipped in her direction. She punched him good-naturedly, then began opening file drawers and filling the briefcase.

Myka stooped down to look at the documents. She was impressed. The bonds were so well preserved that they almost looked new. Unless you looked closely at the tiny printing of the dates, you would never know how old they really were. If Zag was to be believed with regard to the intelligence of his cousin, and as it would be dark when the exchange was made, the scheme should be pulled off flawlessly. Myka smiled, she would back reading comfortably in her armchair at Leena's tommorow.

Pete was snooping around in the attic behind her when Myka turned to note the position of her partner. They made eye-contact and he offered her a little smile. She still didn't really forgive him, so she just turned around without returning the gesture.

* * *

She won't stay mad for much longer, promise.

So, I'm taking reviews in exchange for a new chapter. Sound fair?


	16. Unexpected Foreclosure

Later they would both joke about icebergs and compare their experience with that of the survivors of the ill-fated Titanic; but right now Myka could only feel the knives of cold cut straight through her as a single all-consuming thought drove her._ Pete._

Pete couldn't feel anything at all.

* * *

"This seems unnecessarily complicated guys." The black and white image on the Farnsworth questioned the agents after hearing their update just two hours earlier. "You have the Tesla, why not just go and get the bills?"

Pete let Myka answer as she, again, forced her image onto the tiny screen. "Artie, Zag isn't entirely certain where his cousin is, and where he could be hiding the rest of the artifact. We want to make sure that he brings us all of the bills. Zag said that money was definitely the best motivator if his cousin is involved."

Artie regarded them skeptically for another second before he acquiesced. "Very well. Good Luck. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon?"

Pete smiled, thinking yet again about the concerns of his stomach. "Yea, if all goes to plan we should be back in time for dinner at Leena's."

Myka rolled her eyes and shut the Farnsworth. Pete sat on the edge of his bed, fingers fiddling with the quilt, watching Myka get ready to assume her 'character' for the exchange. He found himself spacing out, staring at the dark trench coat laid out on the bed and realized that dinner wasn't quite settling in his stomach. He wondered for a second if it wasn't the food that was disturbing him; and suddenly was on the receiving end of a forceful, dark vibe.

"Myka, could Artie be right? Do you think there is any other way to do this? I'm not feeling very good about this whole thing."

Myka sighed. At this point, she just wanted the case to be over. "But Pete, we've got it all planned out. What could go wrong? I know your vibes are usually right, we'll just be really careful. I'll even take the Tesla if you think it will help."

Pete finally overcame his staring match with the black coat to meet his partner's dark jade eyes. She was determined, and knowing how stubborn she could be, dropped the issue. The sinister feeling dissipated and Pete figured his vibe had really just been the hamburger talking. That happened often enough.

9:55pm

She stepped out of the car and onto the solid wood of the bridge, sure of her footing in the dim amber lamplight. Zag and Laura were already waiting halfway across for her.

She turned to look at Pete. He still looked worried, but gave her an encouraging grin when he met her gaze. He rolled down the driver's side window, stuck his arm out and gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled; the fact that he still had her back even when she was feeling resentful towards him shored her up a little and she focused on getting into character, keeping her steps confident and her head held high. A dark feeling struck her suddenly and she dropped her façade. _What is it with this bridge?_ Myka thought as she turned again, searching for the dark silhouette behind the windshield, feeling more and more like she should have apologized to her partner.

The three of them presented a united front a few minutes later as the lanky criminal approached out of the gloom among the evergreen trees. He stepped up closer and looked at Myka directly. Myka did not flinch or squirm under his scrutiny, knowing that these few seconds were make or break for her cover. She repaid his curiosity with the unyielding rigidity of someone who was much too important to bother with somebody like him.

She made sure to speak first, but to Zag instead of Jim. "My associate has already secured half of the merchandise, I assume that yours" motioning disinterestedly at Jim, "has the rest like he informed you?"

Zag's "Yes Ma'am" was accompanied by a significant glance to his cousin, who didn't react.

"Jim?" Zag held out his hand expectantly. Myka felt shards of terror begin to form deep in her stomach as Jim's stare changed into bemused disinterest and he stuck his hands into the pockets of his deep green sheepskin-lined jacket. He was too calm.

The realization hit her like a freight train. He knew. She dropped the dark briefcase and instantly reached for the Tesla. Pulling it out she shouted "Freeze, Secret Service!"

Laura and Zag froze, Jim merely grinned wickedly, unfazed by the strange-looking weapon. He looked a Zag. "Good set up cousin, but I'm not as stupid as you think I am. Greg saw the guy's badge in the coffee shop this morning. I might not like our town, but I still hear the gossip."

Myka felt the two teens shrink back behind her as Jim regarded her smugly. "You want to give me that box now?"

She scoffed. "Right. I'm holding a stun gun and you are the one making demands. No. Hand over the bills."

She was about to blast him when he took something out of his pocket. The stack of paper flared yellow in the lamplight. His smugness remained.

His dark eyes flicked behind Myka, then stared directly into her green ones. "You don't know what these can do, do you? They didn't tell you."

Myka's expression gave him the only answer he needed. Surprise and worry tinged the stern expression in her green eyes. For the first time she wished desperately that Pete was standing beside her.

Jim continued. "Didn't she tell you about her father's car?

The gasped profanity behind her confirmed Myka's sudden worry that the teenagers had neglected to tell them something. As she held Jim's gaze firmly Laura's whispered warning reached her ears.

"The artifact works the other way too Myka. Crap. That's the _other_ magic word."

As Myka's eyes grew larger with the realization of the power their adversary now held against them, Jim's smug grin grew as well.

She tried to step forward, to move into a place where blasting Jim wouldn't mean directly blasting the artifact, which the manual did not advise. He stepped back slightly, the arrogant grin softening as his eyes narrowed.

Jim was cornered now. He knew there was no other way out. He could get shot with whatever crazy-ass gun the hot government lady was holding, or he could cut and run. Unwilling to risk his life for some crazy Indian magic; he chose the latter.

Decision made, he took a step back towards the lake side of the bridge. The self-satisfied grin had reappeared.

"The little brat didn't tell you did she? Well I guess I'll just have to show you." His smug expression sent a chill of horror down Myka's spine.

A single word accompanied the bundle of currency he tossed over the low railing:

"Ottowa."

He ran. She froze.

Myka saw him throw it in slow motion, knowing full well that the mahogany box was still in the truck with Pete at the other side of the bridge. She stopped dead in her tracks, the Tesla forgotten at her side as she witnessed the inevitable happen.

It was like watching the reverse of the straw that broke the camel's back. The small stack of yellowed paper hit the thin ice without a sound. Ten seconds later, a loud hollow splash followed.

"PETE!"

Without even a look to her fleeing suspect, Secret Service Agent Myka Bering jumped from the wooden bridge into the frigid lake water.

A torrent of vibes hit Pete all at once as he saw one of the barely distinguishable figures turn and run, and his fight or flight response kicked in.

But there was no time to react. He felt an otherworldly sensation course through his body and then all he could feel was the shock of piercing cold. Fireworks of pain ricocheted behind his eyes and everything went black.

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Review!


	17. Derivatives

Here's a little bit to tide you over until I get the rest all written!

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The grey morning air is crisp. A lone figure, that of a teenage girl, steps onto the old bridge; the rubber soles of her red shoes tap the aging boards rhythmically as she walks several yards out, where the thin ice no longer calms the surface of the black water. She rests as hand on the low railing and glances over the railing checking her position. The still darker shadow remains, the roof of an SUV a foot below the surface. Reaching into the pocket of her best friend's large plaid flannel shirt she removes a slip of yellowed paper and unfolds it delicately with both hands. She snaps the bill taut between her slim un-manicured fingertips, places it carefully down on the plank before her, and steps back.

She closes her sea grey eyes and tilts her face skyward with a sigh. She opens her mouth and the wind steals the whispered word from her lips even as she breathes it out. Laura's eyes open, and hesitantly search downward for the result. It worked.

She picks up the soggy wooden box and places it carefully in a bag from her back pocket, examining it as she holds back the edges of the blue translucent plastic. Her lips press together in a small smile and she turns to leave, looking up the hill towards her destination: an old Victorian inn.

* * *

The warm dry bed holds no warmth for Myka as her subconscious fights to free her from a deep sleep. Recollections from the night before: cold, dark, terrifying feelings and visions lit by the menacing yellow of streetlamps hold her captive inside her own dreams. She feels the frigid knives of lake water intensely again and again; what binds her there is the feeling of helplessness that has weighed her down from the moment her feet left that bridge. Along with her body, she threw her life and fate into that icy oblivion to save her partner last night.

The waves wash over her and over her, sealing her in an unending loop of horror as Pete's stone cold hand finally slips from her grasp and she loses all feeling. It happened only once, but her memory replays those final sensations and images like a scratched DVD. After the images cease, leaving only sound in the emptiness, there is a small reprieve- shouts of her name, and the redeeming feeling of buoyancy- only to be ripped away as the vicious cycle of terror begins once again as she is rendered speechless, breathless and thoughtless by the shock of the frigid water.

She is slowly brought back to the land of the living, hours passing like days, minutes hanging still and unwanted in shuffling silence, not dissimilar to the atmosphere of a hospital. Myrna has been sitting quietly beside the young woman's prone form for three hours now, taking her shift to watch over the unconscious and the sleeping. She has seen the range of frightened expressions cross Myka's face in this time, but is not surprised, given her ordeal. The kindly older woman lifts her younger patient's hand and pats it affectionately after seeing her eyelids flutter and begin to open.

The warmth of this touch is what finally severs Myka's attachment to her dreams; her green eyes open fully and begin the arduous task of focusing on the stark white of the ceiling.

"Welcome back, Miss Myka. How are you feeling?"

Myka still retained only the one, singular thought. Her lips cracked open and she forced out a foreign sounding syllable close to that of her partner's name.

Myrna smiled down at her, "He is all right. Don't worry; he's just over in his bed. Would you like to see?"

She helped Myka sit up a little, just enough to see the Pete shaped lump underneath the navy blue quilt across the room, the lump rose and fell in time with her partner's deep even breathing. Myka leaned back against the pillows with a sigh of relief.

"He woke up a few hours ago and fell right back to sleep after eating a little something." Myka couldn't help the serene smile that escaped her at that news. "Then he is definitely fine." Her voice wavered unsteadily.

Myrna laughed heartily. "You're both going to be fine. We've had many a townie fall into that lake by accident over the years, and they're always o.k. after a bit of rest and a warm meal." She clapped her hands down on her denim-covered thighs and stood up energetically. "Speaking of which, now that you're awake, I am going to go and get you something to eat."

As the door clicked shut Myka's brain finally caught up with her. How had she gotten back to the inn? She couldn't remember anything about being rescued, and she certainly didn't walk frozen up that hill with any icy slab of Pete slung over her shoulder. What had happened to Laura and Zag? She was mulling over these questions, unable to come to any conclusions, when she heard a soft knock on the door.

"Hello?" She called feebly.

The door squeaked on its aged hinges, swinging open to reveal Laura. Laura saw her sitting up, awake, and grinned broadly, rushing over to sit on the bed, her thick dark French braid swinging over her shoulder. "I am so happy that you are ok!" she gushed, "I was so worried!"

Myka smiled absently as the younger girl pressed her hands warmly; she was still so bewildered by her surroundings that the expression of her happiness was not quite as genuine as the happiness she really felt. Laura saw this and understood.

She gave the agent's hand an affectionate squeeze. "I guess I should rewind a little shouldn't I?"

"Would you please? I just can't connect any of the dots."

Laura nodded. "It's quite a story, Myka. It's too bad you and Pete were unconscious for it, but first and most importantly, I have something for you." She reached down beside the bed and retrieved a blue plastic bag that Myka hadn't noticed when she came in.

"It's the box; and all the bills are inside. I went back for it this morning."

Myka felt a deep sense of satisfaction as Laura tied up the bag and placed it at the foot of the bed.

"It is safe with us," Myka promised her. The two women shared a smile, and Myka asked Laura again to tell her what had happened the night before.

"Well I guess I'll start with you giving me a friggin' heart attack, jumping off that bridge like that!"

* * *

See I didn't kill anybody- yet... muhahahaha.

Kidding. Stay tuned for a conclusion!

P.S. HOW FREAKING AWESOME WAS THAT S2 PREMIERE?


	18. Loan Payment 1

So I'm aiming for a nice 20 even chapters... here's 18! Sorry for the wait.

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"_Well I guess I should start with you giving me a friggin' heart attack, jumping off that bridge like that!"_

"Before I even realized what had happened you were over the rail and Zag had already run off after his cousin. When I rushed to the side and couldn't see anything but black water and floating ice, I panicked. God, I was so scared. I thought I'd killed both of you and that Jim would beat Zag beyond recognition like he's been promising to do for so long…" Laura shook her head slightly, chasing the clouds of fear from the forefront of her mind, and began again.

"So I did the only thing I could get my body to do. I ran. I ran towards the town, hoping to see someone, anyone, who could help me. Help me fix this ridiculous and terrifying situation I'd gotten myself into. I got off the bridge and about halfway to town when I tripped over something, fell on my hands and knees, and just didn't get up. I couldn't even stand, all I could do was cry- sob really, in the middle of the dark dirty road."

Laura brushed her hands together, as if clearing some invisible residue of dirt off of them, and then looked up into the caring agent's eyes. The girl's expression broke and Myka saw what incredible helplessness she must have felt alone in the dark. Myka reached out and touched one of her fidgeting hands gently. Laura took a long breath and began again.

"The craziest thing happened next" she said incredulously. "I heard a voice calling me, like, 'Miss Oshea? Miss Oshea?' I looked up, and floating through the broken ice was this ancient looking motorboat with a lantern in it. It was Mr. Long!"

Myka's momentary confusion was settled by Laura's clarification. "Bill."

Immediately Myka's head filled with questions as her eyebrows knit together, her young companion shrugged. "Don't ask me. I have no idea how he could have known something was wrong, or where on earth he got the boat. I didn't even know he knew my name. He called me over to the edge of the water and after asking if I was alright, he told me to run up the hill and tell Mrs. Long, Myrna to you guys I guess, to get all the warm blankets and towels she could find. Then he tossed me a set of keys and just said 'the Ford is in the garage."

Myka's jaw could not have dropped lower, until Laura continued her story that is.

"I ran so fast. I've never been athletic, but I can run like hell when I need to. When Myrna and I pulled up to the bridge about ten minutes later, he already had you two out of the boat; he was barely even wet. I could see that you were okay because of how bad you were shivering, but…" the teen's gaze shifted downward as she paused, unsure of how to relate the next event in her tale.

Myka saw her hesitance. "Pete wasn't breathing was he?"

The brunette's head shook a quick negative response, "He had no pulse. I was so afraid. Nobody I've ever known has died." she mumbled through suppressed tears.

One tear escaped the corner of her eye and she swept it away briskly as she looked up, sniffling a little. "But Bill and Myrna knew just how to help him. She had me feel for his pulse as she brought him back. I have never been so happy to feel someone's heart beat before. God, he coughed up so much water…" she trailed off slightly, seeming far away. "Then we wrapped him up and put him in the warm backseat of the car with you. They got in the car and Myrna told me to stop by later. I watched them drive up the hill for a minute, and then—well… I threw up."

Myka wasn't surprised. She remembered her first experience on a secret service chase that went bad and ended with a colleague wounded. A female colleague- Agent Lightner was pushed down a flight of stairs by a target and while the more experienced male agents left in pursuit, rookie Myka was left to help the severely wounded, unconscious woman. She, of course, knew exactly what to do, having aced all of her Tactical First Aid classes; but after watching the ambulance drive away with a now conscious and very grateful Anne Lightner, Sam had found her…re-living her lunch behind a nearby dumpster. He had held her hair back, and afterwards, silently waited for her to speak first. He had always been like that: gentle, caring and giving her time to process. Myka remembered vividly the sound of his laughter when she threatened to shoot him if he told the other guys and she could feel the grit from the asphalt between their warm palms as he helped her stand up like it was yesterday. Moving from the sight of her own folded hands, Myka's eyes traveled to Laura's slim pale fingers, currently playing with the small red beads in one of the bird motifs that covered her quilt.

"Yea, that's not an uncommon reaction to witnessing trauma."

The younger woman eyed Myka with a mix of suspicion and amusement. "You mean you have-"

"Oh yea." Myka cut her off with a nod and a wry grin. They both laughed for the first time in twelve hours.

"There are two questions," said Myka after a silent moment "That I know you can answer."

"Oh Yea?" Laura intimated, her jovial personality resurging gradually in her voice. "…and they would be?"

"First of all," the secret service agent began "how did you get the box out of the car? It's been driving me nuts sitting there at the foot of the bed like that."

Laura smiled genuinely at the eager expression on the agent's face. "I'm getting to that part. What's the second question?"

Myka appraised the young woman with a hint of suggestiveness in her expression. "Why are you wearing Zag's flannel shirt?"

As she expected, Laura blushed deeply and ducked her head slightly hiding a beaming smile.

Myka giggled. "So…?"

Cheeks still aflame under copper-colored freckles, Laura began the end of her story. "After my stunning display of digestive pyrotechnics, I went back to the bridge and found your shoulder bag. That's how I got the box back, you had a bill in one of those evidence bag things. I stuck it in my pocket and then went back to the bridge early this morning to use it. Aww crap!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"I left your bag with Zag's motorcycle! I'll get it back to you, promise."

Myka's knowing smile reappeared. She didn't doubt that the bag and guy in question were currently on their way here. "You did, did you? Tell me about that Miss Flannel shirt."

Laura blushed again. "He found me back at the bridge and told me that Jim wasn't going to be a problem anymore."

Myka's raised eyebrows caught Laura's attention. "No. Not like that. He's perfectly alive, just headed to the bus station and hopefully very far away." Myka was relieved, not that she cared much for the delinquent, but it was a weight off her shoulders that his cousin wouldn't have to deal with having killed him. "So Zag found you at the bridge, and…?"

Laura stared down at her shoes, shifting them back and forth as she answered quietly. "He kissed me." Myka could see her smile, even with Laura's face turned downward and angled away. "Like really kissed me." She met Myka's eye line and shrugged, still grinning.

Myka's eyes lit up, "You didn't know he was in love with you." It wasn't a question anymore.

Laura scoffed at her own ignorance. "No idea, but it all makes sense now. I always wondered why he doesn't date any of the girls who constantly flirt with him; and whenever I asked him about it, he would never answer me. I never expected, I mean, I'm basically invisible here, other than being the mayor's daughter."

Myka smiled softly, remembering the first guy back in high school who had noticed tall, awkward Myka Bering had grown up and gotten some grace. Randall Lattimer, also a bookish type, had taken her to senior prom and had been her first kiss. She'd never considered the fact that his surname had also been Lattimer. It's not a very common name. She shrugged inwardly at the odd coincidence, returning her attention to Laura. "So this is a good thing?"

"Definitely." Laura smiled wide, less shyly this time. "He's my best friend. We were both too wired to sleep so we rode his bike up to school and sat on the back steps for a while. We do that a lot. The heaters from the gym have an exit vent right above them so you can sit there in the dead of winter and still not freeze. Last night we basically had all the conversations we'd never had before: about how long he'd liked me, and how long I'd wished for him to like me, and especially how stupid both of us are for not figuring it out sooner. I think we're going to go to college together next year, maybe not the same school, but definitely the same city."

Myka regarded her fondly. "That's wonderful Laura. I fell in love with my best friend once, and it was just the greatest."

"What happened? You're not married right?"

Myka's fond smile turned wistful. "If he had lived, I would probably be engaged to him right now."

Laura's eyes widened. "I'm sorry."

Myka nodded, a habit she'd developed during her time of mourning to answer that particular condolence.

The aged door creaked open breaking the silence, revealing both Bill and Myrna carrying wooden bed trays loaded with, what presumably was, lunch.

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Review please! It really motivates me to know people are enjoying- or not enjoying- the story.


	19. Paid in Full

This is an epic-ly long chapter in honor of the epic-ness that the WH13/Eureka crossover is certain to be tonight! Enjoy!

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Bill and Myrna greeted both the agent and her visitor warmly as they set the trays on the glass coffee table.

"How are you feeling?" The older gentleman asked genuinely.

Myka responded with a smile and a "Very good. I can't thank you enough for saving us." She bit her lip slightly, adding every second to the emotions and questions she was suppressing. "Could you tell me how? I don't remember much of what happened last night, and I'm going to need to know- to tell, well…" Myka was hesitant, still unsure of how far their cover had actually been blown.

"Your boss?" Bill suggested with a fatherly smirk.

Myka exhaled deeply. "So you know?"

"I knew the moment you two walked in here you weren't married." Myrna interrupted.

She laughed at Myka's frown. "Two suitcases was the tip off, dear. The rest I figured out on my own."

Myka shook her head slowly, inwardly amused at how hard Pete had tried to 'sell' their cover, when it hadn't fooled Myrna in the slightest. "Well I guess I should re-introduce us then. I'm Secret Service Agent Myka Bering, and asleep over there is Agent Pete Lattimer."

Bill nodded with a smile and returned to the original query. "So you want to know what I did last night? Not much is the answer. Myrna wanted me to follow the four of you."

His wife interrupted again. "I could tell something hinky was going on. I wasn't sure what, but when Sally Wallington told me at the market what her son Greg said about you two being Federal agents, I got suspicious."

Bill smiled fondly at her. "Myrna's got a sixth sense about things. She's like radar, always knows when something is coming. So I listened to her. We'd over heard something about a bridge, so I went down and borrowed Gill Hatchett's ice-fishing boat for a late night 'fishing trip'. Just after he helped me get out into the lake and disappeared back into the bait and tackle; I heard shouting and a large splash; then saw the Collins boy chasing his cousin pell-mell down the road towards town, I figured I had better get myself to the bridge. After I came upon Miss Oshea sobbing in the road, I knew something bad had happened: I was certain someone had fallen in. I sent you up the hill," he gestured towards Laura who nodded, mouth full, from behind her delicious ham sandwich, "and motored as fast as I could towards the bridge."

"Now for the good part." Bill turned his attention to Myka, who sat up straighter in anticipation. "You thanked me for saving you, but all I really did was get you two to shore." Myka's confused expression spread onto the faces of the other two women in the room as they attempted to process this new information. Bill shrugged. "I found you holding on to your partner with one arm and a bridge support with the other. You wouldn't let go of either. I could only pull Pete from your grasp when you finally succumbed to the cold and started shaking. I pulled both of you into the boat and got you to shore. I couldn't tell if you were conscious or not, but you were breathing. Hell of a rescue, Miss Bering, I'm not sure I could have gotten him out of that car as cold as that water was. You should be proud."

Myka was astonished. She'd been the one to save Pete?

Bill saw her disbelief. "It's the truth Miss Bering. I'm glad you had the courage and loyalty to jump in there after him." She blinked several times in wonder. She didn't remember it, but it must have happened.

"I'm just glad that I wasn't wearing a seatbelt." A voice from the other side of the room caused all of them to turn and smile; Pete was awake.

After assuring his hosts that he was fine and saying a polite "Hey." to Laura, he looked Myka straight in the eye and held her gaze. The deepness with which she felt Pete's look of gratitude shocked her. This silent but powerful exchange reigned until a rumbling in the driveway broke the spell. Laura peeked out the window to see a familiar motorcycle, and with a smile to Myka and little happy skip, she headed out of the room. The chorus of thumps down the stairs climaxed with the bang of the heavy oak door as she ran outside.

"Ah, young love." Myrna said and smiled as she and Bill headed out of the room, leaving Myka and Pete alone, once again holding a staring contest. Myka had the feeling she wasn't just talking about the teenagers.

"Pete…" Myka began, with a voice that broke his heart. "I'm so…"

"Myka, no. We're all right. Everything is okay now."

She fought against the sudden threat of tears. "No Pete. It's not all right. We can't fight like that; it's too dangerous. I almost lost you this time because of my stupid grudge, but next time I may not be so lucky."

"Myka." He persisted, getting up out of bed with only a slight wince and making his way over to sit with her. "I was the one out of line, you should be the one who gets the apology. I can't believe I said those things to you." He took her right hand in both of his and held it. "I was tired and stupid. The fact that you rescued me like that is proof of how wrong all of those things I said were. Forgive me?"

"Of course I do, I'm so glad you're alive. I don't think I could handle losing another partner." One of the carefully barricaded tears slipped down Myka's cheek, and she tried to hide it by turning her face into her shoulder.

Pete wasn't fooled. "Hey. My, look at me." he said softly, squeezing her hand. She turned her face towards him, tear and all. He gently brushed it off of her cheek with his thumb. That simple gesture reassured her more than anything he could have said in words. He wasn't afraid of her weakness, her tears. He wanted to see them; to see her. He held her hand and eye contact firmly as he spoke. "You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere, ever." She returned his hopeful smile. "Plus," he said with an air of practiced comedic hauteur "we are far too smart and attractive not to survive this job."

She sniffed back her impending tears and put on the same air. "Oh, is that so, Agent Lattimer?"

"Quite so, Agent Bering."

They were still laughing as another knock sounded on the door. "Aren't we popular today?" Myka said after Pete yelled: "Come in!"

Laura and Zag walked in holding hands. Pete immediately threw Myka a questioning look; which she answered with one that clearly said "Later."

Laura took Myka's black leather shoulder bag off and placed it next to the artifact at the foot of the bed. "Everything is in there- including your funny stun gun thing."

"…and the tin box has been rattling on and off since early this morning, but I didn't want to risk anymore freaky stuff, so I left it alone." Zag added.

Myka and Pete shared a cringing glance. Artie was going to be furious.

They called him immediately, and related the pertinent facts of their situation with almost no jokes from the 'Pete Lattimer Official Peanut Gallery'. Myka would never understand his ability to make literally anything a joke. Artie stared at them through the screen for a full minute before he simply said: "Bring it home guys. We'll deal with the truck later."

Pete shut the Farnsworth, and turned to his partner. "That was weird. Right? What's up with him?"

"It's Artie, Pete. I'm pretty sure we will never understand him no matter how long we have this job. At least he's not mad, and we're not fired."

He pointed his index finger at her. "Word."

Sitting around on Myka's bed, the group took turns telling Pete what he'd missed: including an action packed account of Zag's fight with his cousin. Pete was riveted, and the girls were slightly disgusted at the detail included in his re-telling of the 'epic battle', but proud of his victory nonetheless.

They also discussed the more specific aspects of the artifact's power; there was the question of why the box didn't bring up the whole truck this morning like it submerged it last night. Myka and Zag guessed because it had gotten wet, while Laura and Pete remained convinced that the artifact had always done what the person willed it to do.

"I still think it has to do with will; so far, it has only worked for people who have Ottowa or Wilder in their blood." Laura persisted.

"But you didn't will the Mustang onto the school roof that one time. It just happened." Zag argued simply.

"Well I was supremely pissed at him that day, that's the reason I drove it to school in the first place. Maybe I willed it subconsciously?" She turned to Pete "Can that happen with a- what do you call them, um, artifact?"

Pete shared a look with Myka, who raised her eyebrows. He laughed. "Laura, We're pretty sure an artifact can do anything at this point."

"We don't know a ton about the power that the artifacts hold yet; we've only had this assignment about month, but we've already seen how strange and variable these powers can be." Myka explained.

"Whoa." Zag looked impressed. "How did you get a job like that?"

They shared another silent glance. This time it was Myka who chuckled slightly. "We're… not really sure. We didn't apply, that's for certain." She leaned back on her pillows, being the only one still lounging in bed was a new experience for her. She studied each of her companions momentarily and was about to get up, when Pete threw his body overtop of hers and landed on the other side of her mattress. She rolled her eyes, watching him lean back against the other set of pillows with his hands resting comfortably behind his head.

"I.." began Pete dramatically. "…want to hear more of this famous Mustang story. You did promise to tell me, and seeing as I almost died because you didn't, I feel entitled to hear it."

The joke was cute, but the truth behind it hit harder. Laura smiled weakly. "I'm so sorry about that. If only we'd told you before, maybe…"

Pete saw the guilt she was carrying and felt sympathy for her. "There's no way to know Laura; and everything turned out okay in the end," he said sincerely. "I was just kidding, but not about the story part, so spill."

Laura smiled, much more brightly this time; and filled him in. "My dad loved his '66 Mustang. It's red and white, and very pretty. He has like seven other cars- but the Mustang, she was always his favorite. Whenever I was mad at him I would drive it without asking. Immature, I know, but he never hid the keys from me, and it helped me calm down. Well, after the party with the couch that we moved down the street- remember that story?"

"I seem to remember Zag telling us that you were, ahem, 'slightly toasted'." Pete ribbed good-naturedly.

She giggled this time. "Yes, ok, I admit it. I was tipsy, so Zag drove the mustang back to my house and walked home from there. He had left the box in the trunk by accident, but had the stack of bills in the pocket of his jacket. Right?"

Zag nodded and picked up the story. "Yea. I found them in my pocket during school the next day and texted Laura to meet me up on the roof, so we could talk and I could give them back to her." He looked over at Myka. "At this point we didn't know that Laura could use the artifact." Myka nodded, mentally filing the detail. "I was bored during English that day and writing little notes to myself about things we could do with the box, or trying to figure out how exactly it worked- stuff like that. When the bell rang I folded up the notepaper and slipped it underneath the rubber band that held the bills together, then headed up to meet Laura. There's a stairway to the roof that the janitor leaves unlocked so he can go up and take smoke breaks. We discovered it sophomore year and use it a lot when the weather is good. Its got an awesome view."

Laura smiled remembering all their long rooftop conversations between, and sometimes during, classes. "So we sat on a concrete ledge and Zag set the bills on the ground between us and asked me where the box was. I told him, and also that I'd driven the Mustang to school so we started talking about why I was mad at my dad that particular day. I noticed the notepaper with funny little drawings on it sticking out of the rubber band and grabbed it. I think Zag was a little embarrassed and he tried to get it back. But I wouldn't let him have it."

The teens shared a mischievous look and Zag squeezed Laura's hand, then leaned over and kissed her temple quickly. She smiled, while poking him playfully in the shoulder, and continued. "He chased me around, but he's faster than me so it didn't take him that long to pin me. He got distracted for a second, probably because he was sitting on top of a girl he had a crush on…" Laura smirked in his direction. Zag only blushed, to the amusement of both secret service agents. "… Pun intended. So I took the opportunity to push him over and put all my weight on his arms. I had an older brother, so wrestling is one of my hidden talents."

Zag rolled his eyes. "So now I'm pinned, not that I minded, so I let her read the paper. She got to the part about the magic words- you guys call them phonetic triggers, right? Yea. Well, all she said was 'Ottowa? What does that mean?' and then I explained about the other word. She got up, dusted herself off and pulled me up. When we walked back to where we'd left the bills we couldn't believe our eyes. The Mustang was sitting right there on the roof where we'd just been. We got the box from the trunk, checked inside to see if the bills were there and the just ran for it. Later we got together and figured out what the second word could do, which is basically the opposite of what the first one does. It makes the box 'travel' to the bill, instead of the bill to the box."

"The fallout was epic. The principal and my dad had a coronary trying to figure out who did it and whether the prank was directed at him or at me." Laura explained grinning widely. "You should have seen his face when he first saw it. Best prank ever, and it was a total accident. My dad came to the conclusion that the prank had been directed at me, so what did he do to make it up to me?"

Zag was grinning even wider than Laura now and commented readily: "I love this part."

"He gave me the Mustang." She deadpanned, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "He came home one day, tossed me the keys and said 'Don't worry about those dumb kids at school and their pranks sweetie. Now you've got a cooler car and a cooler Dad than any of 'em'. He thought the kids were making fun of me for having rich parents, so he gave me his expensive car? I will never understand the logic behind that, but I'm certainly not complaining. Now he has a canary yellow 65' Mustang to worship."

Pete's eyes were like saucers. "He gave you his '66 Mustang?" Myka could just see his brain melting behind his eyes and oozing out his ears; she giggled at the thought.

"Yep. You want a ride in it?"

Pete grinned roguishly. "Well we do need to get back to South Dakota somehow."

The four shared a round of glances. Laura was the first to voice what they all were thinking. She grinned at her boyfriend, who nodded in agreement.

"Road trip?"

* * *

Review! Last chapter up soon :( I've loved this story! Hope you have too!


	20. Account Closed

"I can't even begin to thank you for all the help you've been to us." Myka said sincerely to the older couple as the agents got ready to leave later that afternoon.

"…and for saving our asses from becoming icicles." Pete joked as he passed by with the luggage.

Myrna gave each of them a little farewell hug and Bill shook both of their hands warmly.

"If you are ever in the area again, please look us up." He solicited kindly.

"Yes, and if you two ever really do have a wedding anniversary to celebrate we'd be more than happy to put you up, free of charge." Myrna promised broadly.

It was all Pete could do to keep the smug grin on the inside of his face. Myka's eyes had done that thing again, the widening thing they always did when a joke or a touch became more than platonic. Pete now thought he might know what it meant; he'd read somewhere that pupil dilation could be a reaction to sexual attraction. He grinned to himself. So she _was_ attracted to him; even when she wasn't undercover, now that was good to know. She might not like his personality yet, but Pete was all right with physical attraction as a stepping stone, as well as the fact that it was more than a little flattering that this gorgeous woman thought him nice to look at. He headed out onto the porch, the bags bumping against each other and his shoulder as he walked down the steps. He heard Myka's last goodbyes as he settled the two black duffel bags and the shoulder bag onto the grass and sat down on one of the paving stone steps that followed the curve of the hill.

Pete sat with his elbows on his knees and his knuckles underneath his strong jaw. He stared out over the lake; the view that this town was so proud of, and he couldn't see the beauty: all he saw was the cold, dark water that nearly took him away from all this; nearly took him from his strange and exciting new life and especially his new partner.

A few minutes later, the sound of her footsteps approached his position, then stopped as she sat down next to him. Myka rested her forearms along her thighs, her gracefully folded hands hanging just in front of her knees. She looked to her partner and saw his troubled expression. She leaned to the side, knocking her knees against his; breaking the hold of his bleak thoughts.

"Hey." she said softly. "Stop vibing, Pete. We're all right, and we got thorough this one just like we will the next one. We're a good team. "

His jaw pivoted on top of his fists as he turned, regarding her doubtfully. "You really think so? Even after our stupid arguing and the whole nearly dying thing?"

Her voice was as sure as his was unsure. "I do." She met his eyes seriously. "Pete, as childish and annoying as you can be, you still make a good partner. I'm as much responsible for that argument as you are; and, like my father used to say 'that which does not kill you makes you stronger."

He smiled; then laughed. "Watch out Andre the Giant—here come Pete and Myka."

She rolled her eyes.

Pete looked at her, still smiling, and had a completely different vibe. "You know what Myka, you're right. I think we're just getting started with this crazy Warehouse assignment."

She grinned. "What was that Pete? I didn't catch the part right after my name."

He narrowed his brown eyes, knowing what she was after. He sighed. "I said that you were right…" He stuck his tongue out at her. "…as usual."

"Thanks Pete -and you were right about a lot of stuff on this case as well, I guess."

"Ooh, what a concession from her highness- I am honored."

He didn't even flinch when she punched him in the shoulder.

A vintage horn sounded from the street, and when Pete saw the car Myka was worried she'd be wiping drool off of her shoes very soon. All he could do was stare. She cocked her head to the side as she considered both the car and the man currently obsessing over it.

"It's not a naked woman Pete. It's just a Mustang."

Pete finally regained his voice, still fixated on the shiny, gorgeous red machine down the hill. "Same difference."

Myka bit her lip, amused. "Excuse me?"

Pete tore his gaze from the car and looked at his partner. "…Well, almost."

She laughed and began walking down the steps to the street, not noticing the once-over Pete gave her before following.

* * *

They took turns on the long drive, turns behind the wheel and turns singing badly along with whatever radio stations they could tune into, signals being quite rare in the Badlands; it was nearing dusk when Pete pulled the car over in what looked, to the two younger passengers, like the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Laura's head popped out of the backseat and look around suspiciously. "Why'd you stop?"

Myka rubbed her tired eyes and took a glance around her, then smirked at Pete. She turned to Laura, who was obviously awaiting an explanation. "This is where we get out, Lar." She hopped out of the car and opened the trunk.

Pete explained. "You can't really drop us off at the front door or anything because we can't let you know exactly where the place we work is. It's kind of top secret."

Zag, who had been dozing in the front seat, was wide-awake now. "Coohool." He exclaimed, drawing out his expression of amazement with an extra syllable.

Pete grinned, suddenly realizing how cool his job really was. "Yea, our boss will get us from here. We have to report in with him and put this…" He held up the box Myka had handed to him out of the trunk "…somewhere very safe."

Laura and Zag nodded, clearly impressed.

Myka smiled. "About 10 miles down the road is a charming B&B. It's big and white, you can't miss it. Our friend Leena runs it. Tell her that Pete and Myka sent you, and you'll get the best dinner you've ever had."

They all exchanged hugs, emphatic thank-yous and goodbyes; Pete and Myka watched them drive away. Then they turned, shouldered their bags and headed up over the bluff behind them. He shifted his eyes to look at her.

"Think they bought it?"

She turned with a slight smile. "What Pete, that this is the middle of nowhere? Look around. It's not exactly un-true."

As they reached the precipice of the bluff, where the long waving yellow grasses brushed at their knees, swishing and bending back into place as they passed, the familiar valley and the Warehouse itself came into view. They stopped, having forgotten what it was to stand there and stare down at the paradox of plain rusted iron that encompassed unfathomable complexity. Pete turned to look at Myka, and saw his own feelings mirrored exactly on her face.

He grinned. "Home sweet Warehouse, huh?"

Several reactions warred on Myka's face, but the expression that survived was a hopeful smile. "Yea, Pete. Home." She assented softly; finally and audibly committing this place: this wonderful, miraculous, enigmatic, dangerous place, as home. Committing herself as a trusted partner to the man-child at her side, and committing herself to surviving this madness that Artie called a job. She sighed, surprisingly content with her decisions.

Pete's satisfied expression matched her own as he swung an arm good-naturedly over her shoulder and they headed down the hill together, matching step for step; to face whatever endless wonder held in store for them next.

_Fin._

* * *

Hey, if you got this far, thank you SO MUCH for reading and especially for sticking with me despite my busy schedule and LONG stretches without giving you guys a chapter... I really enjoy writing chapter fics, even though my schedule demands that I usually stick to one-shots. This story was INCREDIBLY fun to write, and I hope to do more, but school this semester is especially busy (why did I decide to take 20 credits?) so I will just be confining my sporadic writings to my hard drive until then... I should be back with a vengeance over winter break- again, immense thanks for even reading this stuff!

-Jane

P.s. A review wouldn't go amiss right now!


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